Chương 25: Chapter Twenty Four: The Flatterer

As expected, the agora was almost sparkling with the sheer amount of noise and movement. Which, though entirely nonsensical, was surprisingly quite an accurate way to describe the sight beholding Cyrus's gaze. Merchants from all races and ages shuffled around, some screaming with all the strength of their lungs, others peddling exchanges of various wines, spices, breads, pottery, artwork, honey, and jewelry.

Long porticoes protected the crowd from the harshness of Helios's power, and Cyrus winced at the thuds that were generated from the hundreds of sandals, plumes of dust being sent out to choke the air. Cyrus was standing stiffly. Completely whiplashed by the overload of his senses, all he could do was think of putting one foot in front of the other. Which, in all consideration, was quite a failure of a thought. Eleni, meanwhile, seemed rather bored.

"Come on," she called over her shoulder, arriving at a vacant spot near a small fountain spewing out water in a crisp arc.

"Unload the cart and get it ready. Hurry, the midday crowd is almost here." Cyrus obeyed, though he couldn't help the incredulous feeling that creeped at him. A midday crowd? How can it possibly get more crowded than this? But oh, it definitely could. They had just managed to tilt the cart onto its backside, and load the makeshift stand with golden loaves, when the plaza exploded with noise. Cyrus winced, staggering back. Truly, he had never felt anything like this before. Then Aithon came to life within his head.

"Be observant, child," the spirit cautioned.

"Crowds like these are breeding grounds for rumors and useful information. Keep your eyes and ears wide and clear." Cyrus, shaking his head, struggled to redraw his mental state under control.

"I got it," he whispered. And so, he began flitting his eyes towards the crowd regularly, studying and trying to listen into the various conversations, all while keeping his hands busy organizing the pastries to remain inconspicuous. That was how he noticed a group of affluent merchants begin approaching their stall. But before he could step up, Eleni dove in, intercepting them smoothly. After talking some pleasantries, the exchange of coins and bread was quickly made.

Following the deal, she wiped her hands on her tunic, then stretching her mouth wide, began yelling of their stores out into the entire populace of the agora. Seeing that she had the crowds completely under her control, Cyrus declined from helping too much, instead leaning back against the fountain, wiping his hands on his tunic and watching her work. And in this position of overseeing, he began to notice something peculiar.

Although Eleni was clearly shouting at the top of her lungs, the bustling citizens passing right by their stall didn't pay her any attention. Strange… It was as though her normally enormous—at least to Cyrus—physical and vocal presence had shrunk away. Then, suddenly, the phenomenon broke as a gust of wind flew past, spreading the scent of hearty bread deeply into the crowds. Nostrils flared among the pedestrians, and a flock of customers hurried over.

They shoved their money into Eleni's hands, and began grabbing the bread with greedy grips. Yet the very moment the aroma faded… The crowd abruptly lost interest, parting around the stall, glazed eyes completely oblivious to Eleni's calls. Aithon's voice intruded Cyrus's mind, echoing his own thoughts.

"Truly…" the spirit murmured, his tone colored with fascination.

"This is not normal." Cyrus nodded.

"Well, clearly. But do you have any ideas?" The voice in his head hummed with contemplation.

"I can think of a couple, my child. Unfortunate things like curses and the sort. I have also heard of certain individuals born carrying a certain "blindness" within regular human perception."

"What do you think is the case for her?"

"My, asking all these hard questions…" Aithon sighed.

"But… it is probably an inborn trait. It is surprisingly not too rare. There are many rare bloodlines or anomalous births." Cyrus blinked. Truly, he had never heard of such a thing. A natural blindness within human perception…

"It can be quite powerful if one wielded with intent and cultivation," Aithon added.

"Though in a girl so young and ordinary, it is likely more of a burden than a blessing. It isolates her from the very mortal world she is a part of." Clatter! Cyrus jolted with surprise at the sudden sound of metal. He glanced over to see Eleni quickly handing over some maza to a burly man who had finally been reeled in by her charm. She slipped the paying coins into her pouch, wiping the sweat off her brow. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"If you must stand there so uselessly," Aithon murmured back into his mind,"then try and use your time more wisely." Cyrus straightened up from the edge of the foundation.

"What do you mean?"

"There is a technique I intend to teach you later, that requires an absolute mastery of perception," the spirit explained.

"Therefore, you must learn how to "read" a person. So this is my task for you. Before a person even steps up to the stall, I want you to explain what kind of person they are."

"Read them?" Cyrus frowned.

"How am I to do such a thing?"

"Observe the tiny movements in their bodies," Aithon instructed.

"Tell me who among the passing is merely wandering with empty pockets, and who is actively searching to spend. And once you recognize them, direct the ones with many coins to that girl discreetly."

"Well… I'll try." Taking a deep breath, Cyrus steadied his mind. Then he narrowed his gaze on the relentless and fluctuating sea of faces flowing past the stall. Observe the tiny movements in their bodies, Aithon had said. Cyrus tried to obey. But though it sounded simple enough in theory, putting it into practice was a true challenge. The agora was simply too loud—causing an overload of Cyrus's senses. The amount of people moving past them was staggering.

Every second, dozens of pairs of eyes appeared and disappeared, only to be immediately replaced by a new wave. He tried to focus onto individual faces as they passed, but it was simply impossible. Thinking back to the skills he'd learned while chasing the hares, he attempted reading each individual's muscles—the way he would for a hare as it prepared to jump. But the crowd was not a hare. There were simply too many people. For each person he focused on, an entire crowd would go by unnoticed and unseen.

His head began thrumming. Leaning back against the fountain once more, he winced as his eyes watered from the mental strain. This is useless, he thought. His teeth gritted in frustration as yet another crowd of pedestrians walked past. Aithon's voice echoed within his mind.

"You are doing it wrong, my child. You mustn't chase after each face as they run from you." Cyrus sighed.

"Then what am I to do? There are so many people."

"You approach this too hastily," Aithon explained.

"You exert yourself too fast. Think of it as this. Your mind is a spear. Right now, the way you are hunting is by striking with the entirety of your focus and strength into a simple, tiny beast. This rapidly exhausts your strength—or in your case, your mental reserves." Cyrus rubbed his temples.

"So I should not use all of my focus? Then how am I to see anything?"

"By realizing that not every action requires the absolute peak of your speed or strength," the spirit answered.

"You do everything too fast, my child. You must learn to temper your intensity. Do not chase the crowd. Now, do as I say and close your eyes." Cyrus obeyed, plunging himself into a world of darkness and deafening sounds.

"You must have a passive vigilance rather than an aggressive pursuit," Aithon instructed.

"Most men wear their faces plainly, my child. Studying them on the surface for just a little bit is all you need. If you do that, you will be able to read a thousand faces from dawn to dusk without ever exhausting yourself."

"Now," Aithon said.

"Take a deep breath and open your eyes. Do not reach out into the world, and let it come to you." Cyrus nodded. Then he inhaled the cool, sun-warmed air into his lungs, and snapped his eyes open. For a few minutes, he struggled. He tried to do as Aithon said, let his concentration fan out over the crowd, but it was intensely difficult. Every so often, just when he was about to achieve the state, a sudden noise or shout would draw his attention, completely breaking his concentration.

But eventually, he became used to the thunderous noise, letting it dissolve over to the back of his mind. Then, he went about softening his gaze. He let his eyes lose their strain and go unfocused, no longer hunting for a single face, but instead letting the crowd wash past him. In that softened state, Cyrus's mind began to change in its perspective. Now, instead of seeing the passing pedestrians as a group of individuals, he began to identify them as a collective, like one big pattern flowing around him.

Without needing to dart his eyes around, subtle details began to drift naturally into his awareness. For example, he noticed a man who seemed to break the "pattern" of the crowd. Clothed in a fancy tunic, the man walked with an uneven gait. But why? Cyrus found the answer against the man's left thigh, where a thick coin purse bounced sluggishly. That's it!

He started forward, but abruptly checked himself as Aithon's prior instruction came to mind: And once you recognize them, direct the ones with many coins to that girl discreetly. But how? How was he supposed to guide a stranger toward Eleni? Cyrus frowned, until a small grin of inspiration curved his lips. I should just do what Father does. It didn't require much thought. Cyrus often accompanied his father down to their little town's center, and he could easily draw upon the memory of his father's charisma.

And so, Cyrus stepped into the man's path. He made sure not to completely block him, as that would be rude and uncourteous, instead angling himself in such a way that the stall would be in clear view. When he spoke, he made his voice sound warm and happy, shoving away any trace of eagerness from his tone.

"Careful there, sir," he said cheerfully, gesturing grandly at the piles of golden bread.

"These were just baked an hour ago. Shame to walk past bread this fresh without at least a look." The man blinked. He glanced at Cyrus, then to the stall. Up close, Cyrus could see it even more certainly. The man was clearly looking for something to buy.

"Fresh, you say?" the man said, drifting over to the stall.

"Fresher than fresh!" Cyrus said, beaming. Remembering what his father did for hesitant customers back home, he broke off a small corner of a loaf and held it out.

"Try it yourself, sir. No cost for a small taste." The man took it and popped it into his mouth. His oiled brows rose.

"Well…" his rosy lips curled up.

"I must say that it is indeed very good." Cyrus waggled his eyebrows.

"They are, aren't they?" He gestured towards the stand.

"A couple of loaves can all be yours, just for a couple of coins!" That was when Eleni appeared, sliding in and dealing with the actual exchange. But as the merchant left, satisfied with his purchase, she gave Cyrus a look.

"Where did that come from?" Cyrus shrugged.

"What do you mean? It was just my natural talent." Eleni deadpanned at him.

"Sure, sure…" She then smiled, her eyes brightening as she tapped a finger against her chin.

"Alright then, Kolax. I'll call you that from now on." Cyrus's smile faltered.

"Kolax? What do you mean…?" Eleni turned around, heading for a new group of customers that approached the stall.

"What do you think?" she asked over her shoulder.

"What? I don't know—""A flatterer, stupid," she shot back in a teasing tone.

"Fits someone who keeps smooth-talking people into buying bread." Cyrus' mouth fell open at the pure audacity. She'd been sweet-talking to them all morning! Though he tried to retort, he had to slam his mouth close as Eleni began a pitch with a couple of new customers. Scowling, Cyrus glanced away, shaking his head in disbelief. He leaned back against the fountain, letting his gaze lazily hover back out onto the crowd, carefully tuning the state Aithon had taught him.

And so, for the next couple of minutes, he watched as the patterns of men of the agora flowed on and on. Until Cyrus saw him. A single tall man with rough skin darkened from the sun. Cyrus knew that face. Those were the same joyless eyes. The same gaze that belonged to the man that had stood besides Leandros at the shrine. The very same man who had watched as the rich, spoiled bastard rained down fists upon Cyrus. The Thracian slave.