System in Assassin's Creed

Chapter 73: Chapter 72: Arm Wrestling

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---Previously---

”Oh, ain’t this the Kenway boy!?” The captain boomed, turning towards Alaric with a wide grin. ”GURARARARARARARA!”

---

”Hey there... captain Oldgate,” Alaric smiled at the giant man. ’His name and appearance is familiar...’

The middle-aged tall and muscular captain grinned as he neared Alaric. His height always scared lots of passengers.

”Let’s arm wrestle again, lad!” Edward Oldgate grinned while flexing his arms. ”I’ve come for revenge!”

Arm wrestling... this was a sport that Alaric brought to the ship to appease his boredom. Did he create the sport? No, it was already a thing for thousands of years, especially in the middle eastern part of the world.

Alaric first challenged the ship’s crew for a copper (1 pence). Seeing that the blonde was tall and well-built, people accepted being defeated left and right. That’s when they turned to their captain to defeat the blonde.

Despite that, Alaric didn’t even need to make an effort to beat the captain. Reuben? He was not interested, he knew he didn’t stand a chance and that Alaric was just messing around as there was nothing to do when traveling in the sea.

”Again? That’s the fourth time this week,” Alaric chuckled. ”Ya sure your arm’s fine?”

”What nonsense are you spouting?” Oldgate smirked. ”Come on... have you become a chicken?”

’...Chicken?’ Alaric rose his brows a little bit, before chuckling. ”Fine...”

”Great! Give us a table!” Captain Edward Oldgate’s voice boomed across the deck, echoing off the weathered planks. His grin was wide, revealing a few missing teeth – badges of honor from past brawls, no doubt.

It didn’t take a minute before two burly crewmen carried a sturdy, scarred wooden table into the center of the growing crowd. Murmurs spread through the onlookers, bets already being whispered.

Oldgate radiated confidence and stomped to one side, his heavy boots thudding on the deck. Alaric was calm but with a glint in his eye, took the opposite position.

The sheer size difference was apparent. Oldgate, like Thulani, was a mountain of a man at six-foot-five, towered slightly over Alaric’s already impressive six-foot-three frame.

They planted their elbows firmly on the tabletop, the wood groaning faintly under the pressure. Their hands met in the middle with a tense clasp. Oldgate’s calloused, thick fingers enveloped Alaric’s.

The captain flexed, with his bicep bulging like a cannonball beneath white frock coat. Alaric met his grip evenly, his own muscles tensing, defined but leaner than the captain’s.

”How ’bout we raise the stakes?” Alaric smiled. He stared directly into Oldgate’s eyes, unwavering. ”A single pence is hardly worth the effort, wouldn’t you say, Captain?”

Oldgate adjusted his grip, testing Alaric’s strength, gritting his teeth at the solid resistance. He grunted, ”Spit it out, lad. What do you have in mind?”

”Simple,” Alaric said, a confident smile playing on his lips. ”If I lose, you get one hundred pounds sterling from me. Or,” he added, knowing the value of local currency, ”three thousand, two hundred spanish reales. Your choice.”

The crowd gasped at the sum. ”But,” Alaric continued, his voice dropping slightly, ”if you lose... I’ll be generous. Just ensure those poor souls boarding in the steerage aren’t starved on the voyage. Give them proper rations.”

”Oh, the steerage passengers?” Oldgate’s thick eyebrows shot up. He looked genuinely surprised, then threw back his head and laughed, a booming sound that echoed across the deck. ”Worried about the landlubbers, are we? How... benevolent!”

He slammed his free hand on the table. ”You’ve got yourself a deal, boy! A hundred pounds says you can’t budge me!”

’I already did though? Multiple times...’ Alaric thought and internally shook his head.

One of Oldgate’s crewmen stepped forward, positioning himself to officiate. He placed his hands lightly over their locked fists.

The air grew thick with anticipation, the only sounds were the creaking of the ship and the crash of waves against the hull.

”Ready?” the crewman asked, his eyes darting between the two competitors.

”Ready as I’ll ever be,” Oldgate growled, leaning forward, his knuckles white.

Alaric simply nodded, his gaze fixed, his breathing steady.

”Just get on with it!” someone yelled impatiently from the crowd.

”Alright, alright! On my count!” the crewman shouted. ”Get set... Three... Two...” He snatched his hands away. ”...One! GO!”

”HNNNGH!” With a tremendous roar, Edward Oldgate threw his entire weight and strength into the pull, veins popping on his forehead and thick neck. He expected immediate victory, a swift slam of Alaric’s hand to the wood.

But nothing happened.

Alaric’s arm didn’t budge. Not a millimeter. It was like pulling against a mast rooted deep in the ship’s keel.

Oldgate’s eyes widened in disbelief, his confident grin vanishing, replaced by stunned confusion. He strained harder, his face turning red, the muscles in his arm quivering violently.

Still, Alaric held firm, his expression unchanged, his arm an immovable object against the captain’s seemingly irresistible force. A collective gasp went through the crowd as they witnessed the impossible stalemate.

”Again!?”

”I lost last time!”

”This’s got to be a sham!”

Alaric smirked as the stalemate held. Then, deliberately, he shifted the pressure. Oldgate’s arm, which had been straining against an unyielding wall, suddenly found itself being pulled.

Slowly, inexorably, Alaric began drawing the captain’s forearm towards his side of the table. It wasn’t a sudden jerk, but a smooth, almost casual movement that spoke volumes about the effortless power behind it.

Oldgate’s eyes bulged, sweat beading on his temples. He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw muscles stood out like cords.

He tried to resist, putting every ounce of his considerable strength, every trick learned in countless tavern brawls, into halting the movement. He shifted his weight, dug his elbow deeper into the wood, tried twisting his wrist , but nothing worked. Alaric’s pull was relentless, unhurried, and utterly dominant.

The noisy crowd fell silent, mesmerized by the spectacle. The captain, their formidable leader, was being overpowered, not with explosive effort, but with calm, undeniable force. The disbelief on Oldgate’s face morphed into desperation. His breath came in ragged gasps.

With agonizing slowness, Alaric continued the pull. The back of Oldgate’s knuckles hovered inches above the table, then centimeters. The captain let out a final, strangled grunt of exertion, a last-ditch effort that crumpled against Alaric’s steady pressure.

THUD.

Oldgate’s knuckles slammed onto the wooden surface. The sound cracked through the stunned silence.

Alaric immediately released his grip, flexing his fingers casually as if he’d just finished a light exercise.

Captain Oldgate slumped back, panting heavily, staring at his defeated hand on the table as if it belonged to someone else.

”I lost again...” Oldgate sighed, and stared at Alaric and the blonde’s arms. ”Damn... have you eaten some kind of food that strengthened you?”

”No, captain... I’m born this way,” Alaric smirked, then proceeded to walk towards the open hatched leading downstairs.

”Don’t forget about wager!”

Edward Oldgate grunted as he stared at the blonde’s figure that was walking downstairs.

---

Within the relative quiet of the galleon’s great cabin, Reuben was comfortably resting upon his bed.

He lounged against the carved wooden headboard, legs crossed casually at the ankles, seemingly absorbed in a book titled ”The Gentleman’s Library: Containing Rules for Conduct in all Parts of Life.”

The pages offered guidance on navigating society, touching upon everything from proper etiquette to the finer points of courtship, emphasizing virtues like understanding, a level temper, and an agreeable demeanor as essential for attracting a worthy partner.

The cabin windows were latched open, letting in a cool breeze that carried the scent of salt and the fading light of late afternoon, hinting that the night was soon approaching.

The gentle rocking of the ship and the soft rustle of the pages were the only sounds until the cabin door creaked open, revealing Alaric stepping inside.

”Oh? You still haven’t finished reading that?” Alaric asked as he sat down on his bed, then lied down and closed his eyes.

”...I’m almost finished,” Reuben replied but was still focused on the book.

They enjoyed each other’s silence as all they could hear was the waves crashing on the boat.

”...”

”...”

”...We’re nearing Lisbon,” Alaric broke the silence, still closing his eyes.

”...”

Alaric opened his eyes and turned his head towards Reuben, who was still reading. ”Are you really that in need of some woman to marry?”

The former thief’s eyes twiched, then turned his head towards Alaric. ”No... I’m just trying to gain some knowledge.”

”Yes... knowledge in how to find a partner,” Alaric smirked as the black-haired sighed.

The blonde didn’t bother Reuben further, and continued closing his eyes as he fell asleep.

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