System in Assassin's Creed

Chapter 150: Chapter 149: BLURGHHH!

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”Alright, round one!” Alaric announced cheerfully, beckoning them forward with a casual wave of his hand. ”Hand-to-hand only. Let’s see those new muscles.”

They didn’t need a second invitation. Thulani, ever the direct one, roared and charged first, his massive frame covering the ground with surprising speed. Reuben and Jonathan flanked him, moving in a coordinated triad.

Alaric met Thulani’s initial bull rush with a calm sidestep, his hand shooting out to gently tap the big man’s extended arm, redirecting his immense momentum. Thulani stumbled, surprised by how easily his charge had been neutralized. Before he could recover, Alaric had already flowed past him, his movements were deceptively casual.

Reuben came in next, a flurry of fast, precise jabs aimed at Alaric’s head and torso. Alaric didn’t block; he simply swayed, leaned, and shifted his weight, letting Reuben’s fists whistle past empty air.

”Too telegraphed, Reuben,” Alaric commented, his voice calm amidst the exchange. ”You’re relying on speed, but your intent is clear a mile away.” He then lightly tapped Reuben’s attacking wrist, causing his arm to go numb for a split second, breaking his rhythm. ”Come on, Il Corvo d’Ombra.”

Jonathan, seeing an opening, lunged with a powerful straight punch. Alaric pivoted smoothly, letting the blow glance off his shoulder, then used Jonathan’s own forward momentum to spin him slightly off balance, a gentle push to the former Assassin’s back sending him stumbling towards a surprised Matteo.

”Maestro, watch your six,” Alaric chuckled.

Kassandra was the next to engage, her movements were a blur of controlled power. She didn’t waste energy on flashy moves, her strikes were economical and aimed at vital points.

Alaric met her attack with a more focused defense, his hands moving to intercept, parry, and redirect her blows. Their exchange was faster, more intense than with the others, a dance of high-level martial arts.

”Better, Kass,” Alaric grunted as he blocked a sharp elbow strike. ”But you’re still thinking like you have a spear in your hand. Adapt.”

Flavia, seeing Kassandra momentarily occupy Alaric, darted in with a series of quick, stabbing palm strikes.

Alaric, without even looking directly at her, shifted his weight, letting her blows slide off his torso, then used his elbow to gently nudge her off course. ”Good aggression, Flavia, but your footwork is leaving you open.”

Leonard and Bernard, encouraged by the others, charged in together, a surprisingly coordinated assault of haymakers and rough grapples. Alaric sighed dramatically. ”Really, Unc? Dad? This is how you thank me for the cigars?”

He effortlessly ducked under Bernard’s wild swing, used Leonard’s outstretched arm to block another incoming punch from his brother, then with two quick, precise open-palm strikes to their chests, sent both men staggering back, gasping for breath but unharmed.

Eleanor, Linette, and Aveline, seeing their husbands so easily dispatched, hesitated for a moment, then charged with a surprising fierceness, daggers... practice ones, thankfully... appearing in their hands as if from nowhere.

Alaric just grinned. ”Now this is more like it!”

He moved between them, a whirlwind of evasive maneuvers, his hands a blur as he disarmed them with gentle taps and twists, their daggers clattering harmlessly to the ground. ”Excellent spirit, ladies! But remember, a dagger is an extension of your will, not just a pointy stick.”

Sebastian, with surprising agility for his apparent age... though Alaric knew the Hourglass of Samsara had done its work... launched a series of well-aimed kicks and chops. Alaric parried them easily. ”Good form, Sebastian! Penn, you should give this man a raise!”

William Penn, looking deeply uncomfortable, finally shuffled forward, throwing a tentative punch that Alaric caught with a smile. ”That’s the spirit, William! Though perhaps stick to diplomacy, eh?”

The initial, somewhat chaotic assault had been easily dismantled. Alaric hadn’t landed a single truly damaging blow, relying purely on technique, redirection, and exploiting their openings. His opponents, however, were frustrated, their pride stung.

”Alright, enough playing!” Reuben growled, shaking feeling back into his arm. ”Everyone, all out! Don’t hold back!”

The group surged forward again, this time with a raw, desperate ferocity.

Thulani roared, his punches carrying the force of a battering ram. Reuben and Jonathan became a whirlwind of coordinated strikes, their movements honed by months of training together.

Kassandra moved with lethal grace, her attacks faster, stronger, her millennia of experience shining through.

Matteo and Flavia, their Assassin instincts fully engaged, sought openings with deadly intent. Even the Kenway elders and Aveline fought with a newfound, desperate strength, their earlier hesitation gone.

Alaric’s smile widened. ”Now we’re talking!”

This time, he met their force with a little more of his own.

He blocked Thulani’s powerful hooks, the impact echoing through the training ground. He parried Reuben’s lightning-fast combinations, as his own hands were a blur.

He danced around Kassandra’s relentless assault, their limbs becoming a whirlwind of motion. He still wasn’t going all out, not even close, but he was no longer just redirecting.

He delivered sharp, stinging counters... a quick jab to Reuben’s ribs that made him grunt, a precise palm strike to Thulani’s chest that momentarily staggered the giant, a swift leg sweep that sent Jonathan sprawling.

Kassandra, however, was a different beast.

Her attacks were relentless, powerful, and incredibly skilled. Alaric found himself genuinely engaged, their hand-to-hand exchange a breathtaking display of speed and power that left the others momentarily forgotten.

He had to use a significant portion of his focus just to keep up with her, their blows creating small shockwaves in the air. It was exhilarating.

Seeing Alaric so focused on Kassandra, Reuben, Thulani, and Jonathan saw their chance. They converged, attacking simultaneously from three different angles. Alaric, sensing their approach, disengaged from Kassandra with a powerful push, spun, and met their combined assault with a flurry of blocks and parries, his movements impossibly fast.

He was outnumbered, but not outmatched.

He was a whirlwind of motion, a single figure holding off four incredibly powerful opponents, his technique flawless, his defense impenetrable.

”Damn it!” Bernard roared, seeing their best efforts failing. ”To arms! He’s too slippery!”

Swords, daggers, and hidden blades flashed into existence.

Kassandra reformed the Staff of Hermes into the glowing Spear of Leonidas, a practice sword appearing in her other hand.

Reuben ignited the Sword of Damokles, its golden light pulsing.

Thulani drew the mighty Excalibur, its blade radiating a faint, holy aura.

Jonathan, Matteo, and Flavia armed themselves with their preferred Assassin weaponry.

The Kenway elders and Aveline drew their daggers, while Sebastian produced a surprising number of throwing knives alongside his own dagger.

Even William Penn, with a determined sigh, drew his practice sword. Poor William.

Alaric remained unarmed, a confident smirk on his face. ”Bringing toys to a fistfight? How unsporting.”

They attacked, a wave of gleaming steel and Isu energy converging on him. Kassandra was a blur of golden light and flashing steel, her spear and sword a whirlwind of deadly precision. Reuben and Thulani formed a devastating pincer, their artifact weapons crashing down with immense force.

Jonathan, Matteo , and Flavia moved like shadows, their blades seeking any opening, their movements a testament to their Assassin training.

Leonard and Bernard fought with a surprising ferocity, their swords less refined but backed by raw determination.

Linette, Eleanor, and Aveline darted in and out, their daggers quick and opportunistic. Sebastian unleashed a hail of throwing knives while Penn, bless him, tried his best to look threatening.

Alaric? Well... he became a ghost. Not literally...

He weaved through the storm of attacks, his movements impossibly fluid. He’d sidestep Kassandra’s spear thrust by a hair’s breadth, letting the Isu energy scorch the air where he’d been.

He’d duck under Reuben’s glowing blade, the heat of it passing inches above his head. He’d deflect Thulani’s Excalibur with an open palm, the impact sending a tremor up the giant’s arm but leaving Alaric unfazed. He’d catch Jonathan’s wrist mid-strike, disarming him with a casual twist. He’d pluck Sebastian’s throwing knives out of the air as if they were slow-moving flies.

He wasn’t just dodging... he was teaching. ”Kassandra, your reach with the spear is excellent, but your follow-through leaves you exposed for a fraction of a second. Reuben, you’re relying too much on Damokles’s power, not enough on your own skill. Thulani, Excalibur is a blade of light, not a club; finesse, my friend, finesse! Jonathan, your stealth is good, but your attacks are too direct. Flavia, excellent speed, but you overcommit on your lunges.”

His calm commentary, delivered amidst the chaos of battle, only served to further frustrate his opponents. They redoubled their efforts, their attacks becoming more desperate, more furious.

”Enough of this!” Alaric finally declared, his voice cutting through the clang of steel. His eyes, which had been their normal piercing blue, suddenly blazed crimson, the three tomoe of the Sharingan spinning hypnotically within them.

A collective gasp went through the attackers. They’d heard stories from Reuben and Thulani about Alaric’s strange eyes, but seeing them firsthand was something else entirely. The sheer intensity, the alien nature of those spinning red orbs, was deeply unsettling.

”What in the...?” Bernard stammered, his sword wavering.

”His eyes!” Eleanor cried out, pointing.

But there was no time to process. With the Sharingan active, Alaric’s perception accelerated to an insane degree.

The world seemed to slow down around him. He saw every muscle twitch, every subtle shift in weight, every flicker of intent in his opponents’ eyes before they even began to move. He saw the trajectory of every blade, every thrust, every feint, as if they were traced in glowing lines.

He moved. And it was beautiful.

He flowed through their renewed assault like an untouchable force. Kassandra’s spear, Reuben’s artifact blade, Thulani’s Excalibur... they all met empty air.

He didn’t just dodge; he moved with such perfect anticipation that it seemed as if they were the ones missing, as if their weapons were passing through him. He’d tap Kassandra’s spear shaft, sending her attack wide. He’d brush Reuben’s sword arm, deflecting the blow with minimal effort. He’d step inside Thulani’s guard, delivering a precise, non-lethal chop to a pressure point, causing the giant to grunt and stumble.

He disarmed Jonathan, Matteo, and Flavia again, this time with such speed and precision that their weapons were gone before they even realized they’d lost their grip.

He weaved through the attacks of his family members, his movements a blur, occasionally tapping a shoulder here, a wrist there, neutralizing their efforts without causing harm.

Sebastian’s throwing knives were plucked from the air and sent spinning back to embed themselves harmlessly in the dirt at his feet.

William Penn, after one particularly close call where Alaric seemed to teleport out of the way of his sword, wisely decided to lower his weapon and simply observe the impossible display.

The fight, if it could still be called that, was over in less than a minute. The core group stood panting, disarmed, or simply staring in stunned disbelief. Alaric stood in the center, his crimson eyes slowly fading back to blue, not a single scratch on him, his breathing perfectly even.

He let out a theatrical sigh. ”Well, that was... mildly invigorating.”

He then turned his gaze towards the edge of the training ground, where the thirty Auditore Assassins had been watching the entire spectacle with wide, incredulous eyes.

”Alright, you lot!” Alaric yelled, a challenging grin spreading across his face. ”Your turn! All of you, at once! Let’s see what Maestro Matteo and my clones have taught you!”

”Clones?”

”What’s he talking about?”

’Ah... right, I forgot... they didn’t know...’

The Assassins exchanged uncertain glances, then, spurred by a mixture of duty, professional pride, and perhaps a morbid curiosity to test themselves against this... entity, they drew their weapons and surged forward.

What followed was, frankly, a massacre, albeit a non-lethal one.

Alaric, still warmed up and with his senses heightened, moved through the thirty trained Assassins like a storm. He didn’t even bother with finesse this time. It was pure, overwhelming speed and power.

He sent them flying with kicks and punches, disarmed them with contemptuous ease, and used their own numbers against them, creating a chaotic tangle of limbs and groaning bodies. Within two minutes, all thirty Assassins were sprawled on the ground, moaning or unconscious.

Alaric dusted off his hands, then looked towards the far side of the training area, where the nearly two hundred and fifty Kenway household employees... maids, cooks, groundskeepers, coachmen, and the families of the former slaves... had been watching the entire proceedings with a mixture of terror and awe.

”And finally,” Alaric called out, his voice echoing across the now littered training ground, ”the main event! All of you! Come on, don’t be shy! Show me what my friends taught you!”

A wave of visible panic went through the assembled staff. They looked at each other, then at the downed Assassins, then back at the grinning Alaric.

This was madness.

But... their master had ordered it. And after months of grueling training, a strange sort of pride, a desire to at least try, flickered within them.

Hesitantly at first, then with a growing, almost comical, determination, they surged forward, a wave of nearly two hundred and fifty ordinary people, armed with a motley collection of practice staves, kitchen knives, farming implements, and sheer, unadulterated hope.

Alaric just laughed, a genuine, hearty sound.

What followed wasn’t a fight; it was a playful, chaotic dance. He weaved through the crowd, never striking, never harming, simply evading, redirecting, occasionally using a gentle push to send someone tumbling harmlessly into a soft patch of grass, or playfully disarming a cook who was brandishing a rolling pin with surprising ferocity.

He moved like a leaf on the wind, untouchable, a grin plastered on his face, clearly enjoying the sheer absurdity of it all.

It was, in its own way, the most impressive display of the day.

---

Minutes passed, which felt like an eternity for those on the receiving end of Alaric’s ”evaluation.”

The training ground was now littered with groaning bodies, not just the elite fighters and Assassins, but also a fair number of the household staff who had bravely, if foolishly, charged him.

The Asura’s Crest, thankfully, was already doing its work; bruises were fading, twisted ankles were mending, and the general exhaustion was being slowly but surely pushed back by the regenerative properties of the seals.

No one was seriously injured, a testament to Alaric’s incredible control, but everyone was thoroughly humbled and utterly spent.

Alaric stood in the center of the ”carnage,” not a hair out of place, a thoughtful expression on his face as he surveyed his handiwork. He clapped his hands together once, the sound sharp and clear in the sudden quiet.

”Alright, everyone, gather ’round,” he called out, his voice calm and carrying easily. ”Debriefing time.”

Slowly, painfully, the group began to pick themselves up.

Kassandra, Reuben, Thulani, and Jonathan, being the most resilient, were on their feet first, though even they looked like they’d been through a wringer. The Kenway elders, the Auditores, Penn, Sebastian, and Aveline followed, nursing sore limbs and bruised egos.

The thirty Assassins, looking particularly chagrined, helped each other up. Even some of the more determined household staff, faces smudged with dirt but eyes still holding a spark of awe, limped closer, eager to hear their master’s assessment. They all sat or leaned against trees at the edge of the training ground, a motley, exhausted audience.

Alaric paced slowly before them, a general surveying his troops after a particularly grueling drill.

”Overall,” he began, his tone surprisingly mild, ”not bad. Definitely an improvement from two months ago. The Asura’s Crest has clearly boosted your physicals across the board. Stamina’s up, strength is up, speed is better. That’s good.”

He stopped in front of Kassandra. ”Kass, you’re still a beast,” he said with a grin. ”Your raw power with the Staff is incredible, and your instincts are sharper than ever. But,” his grin faded slightly, ”you still telegraph your big moves with the Spear of Leonidas. That energy surge? I can feel it a second before you unleash it. Work on masking that. And when you’re using a sword in your off-hand, don’t treat it like an afterthought. It’s another weapon, not just a counterbalance.”

Kassandra nodded thoughtfully, accepting the critique without argument. She knew he was right.

He turned to Reuben and Thulani. ”You two. Your teamwork is getting better, much more fluid. Reuben, your speed with Damokles is impressive, and you’re not letting the sword’s ’suggestions’ overwhelm you anymore. That’s a huge step. But you still hesitate sometimes, that fraction of a second before committing to a strike when you see an opening. Trust your instincts more.”

Reuben nodded, a determined look on his face.

”Thulani,” Alaric continued, ”Excalibur. It’s a magnificent blade, yes? Responds to your will. But you’re still trying to overpower opponents with it, like it’s your old greatsword. It’s a blade of precision too, capable of cuts that can slip through armor like water. Explore its finesse, don’t just rely on its brute force. And watch your footwork when you’re making those wide swings; you leave yourself wide open for a counter.”

Thulani grunted, a thoughtful frown on his face. ”I understand, Alaric.”

”Jonathan, Sebastian, Penn,” Alaric addressed the butlers and the Quaker. ”Impressive. Jonathan, your Assassin training is still there, sharp and efficient. Sebastian, your agility surprised me; for a man of your... former years, you move like a cat. Penn, my friend, your determination is admirable, truly. You actually tried to block a few of my moves.” He chuckled. ”For all of you, though, it’s about commitment. You have the skill, you have the enhanced bodies now. Don’t hesitate. When you strike, strike to disable. Don’t second-guess.”

Jonathan and Sebastian nodded respectfully. Penn just sighed, looking slightly embarrassed. ”I confess, Alaric, the art of war is not my natural calling.”

”And that’s fine, William,” Alaric smiled. ”Your strengths lie elsewhere. But knowing how to defend yourself and those you care for is never a wasted skill.”

He then faced Matteo and Flavia. ”Maestro, Flavia. Your Assassin skills are top-notch, no question. Speed, stealth, precision. But,” he paused, ”you both rely a little too heavily on traditional Assassin takedowns and openings. Against someone who knows your playbook, like me, or a highly skilled Templar, those can be anticipated. Think outside the Creed sometimes. Improvise. Adapt.”

Matteo looked thoughtful, while Flavia nodded, a new understanding in her eyes. ”You make a valid point, Alaric.”

Finally, he addressed his family... Leonard, Bernard, Eleanor, Linette, and Aveline. ”Dad, Unc, Mum, Aunt Linette, Aveline. Honestly? I’m proud of you. You charged in, you didn’t back down, even when you were clearly outmatched. That takes guts.” He grinned. ”Your technique needs a lot of work, obviously. You’re still swinging those daggers and swords like you’re trying to churn butter. But the spirit? The will to fight? That’s there. We’ll keep working on the rest.”

Bernard puffed out his chest slightly. ”Well, we Kenways aren’t ones to shy from a scrap, eh?”

Eleanor playfully swatted his arm. ”Oh, hush, Bernard. Alaric is being kind.” But she was smiling.

As Alaric spoke, a quiet thought echoed in the minds of many present, from the seasoned warriors like Kassandra and Matteo to the Kenway elders. ’He’s a monster.’

Not in a malicious sense, but in the sheer, overwhelming scale of his power, his knowledge, his effortless dominance. He had faced them all, dozens of highly skilled, supernaturally enhanced individuals, and had dismantled them with an ease that was both terrifying and deeply awe-inspiring.

He was a benchmark against which they could only strive, a peak they might never reach, but his presence, his guidance, pushed them all to be better, stronger.

A few of the younger maids, who had bravely joined the final ”charge” and were now nursing bruised prides and a few sore muscles that were already healing thanks to the Asura’s Crest, watched Alaric with wide, admiring eyes.

He was undeniably handsome, especially now, his platinum hair slightly mussed from the exertion, his crimson coat adding a dash of dangerous elegance. But then their gazes would inevitably drift towards Kassandra, who was now standing beside Alaric, her arm linked through his, a possessive, almost predatory glint in her ancient eyes as she looked at him.

The maids would quickly lower their gazes, a shiver running down their spines. Lady Kassandra was beautiful, yes, but she was also terrifyingly powerful. Best to admire the young master from a very, very safe distance.

”With that,” Alaric finally said, clapping his hands together again, a warm, encouraging smile replacing his earlier analytical expression, ”I hope you all could use my advice and improve.”

A collective groan, mixed with a few weary chuckles, went through the assembled group. They slowly, stiffly, began to get to their feet, stretching sore muscles.

They hadn’t even landed a single significant blow on Alaric, yet they felt as if they’d run a marathon and wrestled a bear simultaneously. Facing Alaric, even in a ”spar,” was utterly exhausting, mentally and physically.

One by one, they began to walk away from the training ground, heading back towards the relative comfort of Pennsbury Manor, leaving Alaric and Kassandra standing alone amidst the scuffed earth and scattered practice weapons.

They were dead tired.

---Pennsbury Manor, Alaric and Kassandra’s Room, Evening---

---(Extra Content!)---

The door to their spacious room in Pennsbury Manor clicked shut, plunging them into the relative quiet after the day’s exertions and the communal dinner that followed. Lanterns casted a soft, warm glow, and the scent of Kassandra’s preferred lavender incense, a small luxury Alaric had ’found’ for her, drifted from a burner.

Suddenly...

”HUPP!”

Alaric, who had been shrugging off his crimson coat, immediately turned his head towards Kassandra. She had a hand clamped firmly over her mouth, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and alarm. He raised an eyebrow; a questioning look on his face. Before he could speak, she spun around, lurching towards the nearest corner of the room where a washbasin stood, and retched violently.

’Is that...’ Alaric thought, his mind racing as he quickly walked over to her, gently patting her back as she heaved. ”Hey... you okay, love?”

”Y-Yea- BLURGHHH!” Kassandra managed, before another wave of nausea hit her. All that came up was a small amount of clear liquid, the remnants of the water she’d had with dinner. She leaned heavily against the wall, panting, her face pale.

”Just... just something I ate this morning, I think,” she mumbled, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to wave off his concern. ”Must have been some bad fish... or maybe the water...”

Alaric shook his head slowly, a thoughtful, almost awestruck expression dawning on his face.

”Kassandra...” he began gently, ”you’re immortal, remember? A demigod, sustained by an Isu artifact and now an Asura’s Crest. You don’t get sick from food. Your body... it wouldn’t react like this to something so trivial.”

Kassandra’s eyes widened as his words sank in. She stared at him, then down at her own stomach, a look of dawning realization, then utter disbelief, spreading across her features.

”Now that I think about it...” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. ”My... my cycle... it has been absent for... for some time now. I thought it was just the Staff, or the Crest... or perhaps my body finally... adjusting after millennia...” Her hand instinctively went to her flat abdomen. ”This could mean...”

”You’re pregnant!” Alaric’s face broke into an ecstatic, almost boyish grin. He let out a whoop of pure joy and, forgetting everything else in his excitement, scooped her up into a fierce hug, spinning her around in a circle. ”We’re going to have a baby! A baby!”

Then, just as suddenly, he froze, his eyes widening in a different kind of alarm. He carefully, almost reverently, set Kassandra back on her feet. ”Oops... sorry... I just got so excited...”

He looked at her, his blue eyes shining with a mixture of elation, nervousness, and overwhelming tenderness. ”Are you... are you really? A baby? Our baby?”

Kassandra was still a little breathless from the spin and the suddenness of it all, but a radiant, tearful smile was spreading across her face. She reached out, her hands trembling slightly as she cupped his cheeks.

”Yes, Alaric,” she whispered, her own voice thick with emotion. ”Maláka... I think... I think we are.”

She laughed, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy that echoed Alaric’s own. ”A baby... after all this time... a child of ours.”

The legendary Misthios, the Eagle-Bearer, who had walked the earth for over two thousand years, looked utterly, beautifully, humanly, overwhelmed.

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