System in Assassin's Creed

Chapter 187: Chapter 186: Slice of Life - Extra 5

[Current Balance: £418,963,435 4s. 2d.]

---

The next morning, the first rays of a cold January sun filtered through the tall windows of the master bedroom.

Alaric woke up slowly, the deep, dreamless sleep was a welcome respite after the whirlwind of the previous day. He turned his head, a soft smile touching his lips as he looked at Kassandra, who was still fast asleep beside him, her dark hair was a stark, beautiful contrast against the white linen sheets. She was naked, the blankets having been kicked away during the night, her warrior’s body was a masterpiece of strength and grace even in repose.

’I love you,’ he thought, the sentiment was a quiet and powerful hum in his chest. He leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. She let out a soft, contented groan but didn’t stir.

Alaric chuckled silently. He slipped out of bed, the cool air raising goosebumps on his bare skin. He stretched, his joints popping, then dropped to the floor, beginning his morning routine of push-ups, the movements swift and silent. After working up a light sweat, he got up from his position.

He formed a familiar hand sign. ”Suiton: Full Bathing Jutsu.”

A swirl of water enveloped him, but it felt... thin, lacking its usual cleansing power. He frowned. He checked the fuinjutsu seal on his shoulder, the one linked to his personal supplies, and unsealed the familiar bottles. They were empty. He sighed, a rare flicker of annoyance crossing his features.

He walked out onto the large marble balcony connected to their bedroom, pulling on a simple pair of trousers. The view was breathtaking.

The mansion was situated on an elevated, secluded part of the land, and from here, he could see the entire city of Philadelphia spread out below, a blanket of white under a fresh layer of snow, the morning fog clinging to the Delaware River in the distance.

He could fly, yes, but there was a quiet beauty in simply standing here, observing the world from a distance.

He opened the System interface, the blue screen a familiar, comforting presence in the cold air. ’Oh yeah,’ he thought, his annoyance fading as a new idea took hold. ’I should probably buy enough for everyone in this mansion, and gift some to Penn and the others too...’

[Shampoo + Conditioner (Sachet 10mL) - 1d.]

[Quantity: 5,000x]

[Liquid Bathing Soap (Sachet 20mL) - 1d.]

[Quantity: 10,000x]

[Total Deduction: £62 10s. 0d.]

[Current Balance: £418,963,372 14s. 2d.]

With a mental command, the vast quantity of sachets was deposited directly into his personal storage seal, a space far larger and more complex than the ones he had given his clones. Speaking of which...

Alaric focused inward, accessing the master seal that linked him to his four shadow clones scattered across Europe. He had sent them on a mission with a vast inventory and a simple command: sell. He expected them to still be working, slowly building their networks.

He checked the linked storage dimension. It was empty.

”Oh shit, they’ve finished selling!?” Alaric exclaimed, his eyes widening in genuine shock. He had given them enough product to supply few large countries for a year. ”Damn... what the hell. They’re surely enjoying their lives right now.”

”They’re quick...” he murmured, a slow grin spreading across his face. Without any further delay, he activated the deposit function.

[+ £340,586,026 16s.]

[Current Balance: £759,549,399 10s. 2d.]

”...”

”...”

Alaric stared at the balance in the System. He looked out at the view of the city. He looked back at the System.

”...Wait the fucking minute,” he muttered, a vein throbbing in his temple. ”Why the fuck is the 100 million pounds missing!?”

His mind raced. ’Shouldn’t the total profit be around £440 million?’ he calculated quickly. ’Fuck... did the clones spend that much money? On what? Gold-plated carriages? An army of personal chefs?’

Gritting his teeth, Alaric lifted his hand and performed a single hand sign. He didn’t dispel the clones; he simply opened a direct, one-way channel to their memories. Information flooded his mind.

Clone #1 in Bristol had not only sold out but had used the profits to discreetly buy out several key shipping companies, creating a new, legitimate business front.

Clone #2 in Lisbon had become a beloved, if mysterious, benefactor, funding orphanages and gaining the trust of both the local Assassins and, amusingly, several high-ranking Templars who loved his ’Celestial Cigars’.

Clones #3 and #4 in London and Rome had done much the same, weaving themselves into the fabric of their respective cities, living lives of opulent but effective merchant princes.

”What the fuck? Did I miscalculate?” Alaric wondered, leaning against the cold balcony railing. The anger faded, replaced by a grudging admiration. His clones weren’t just selling; they were building empires. ”Damn... but still, I’m now close to being a billionaire in pounds.”

’Not that it matters,’ he thought, a familiar sense of detachment settling over him. He went back inside the bedroom. ’I wonder if the maids cleaned everything up. It was messy last night.’

An hour later, Kassandra was still sleeping soundly. Alaric, now fully dressed, made his way down to the grand living room. The aftermath of the previous night’s grand celebration was still evident. Maids moved quietly through the vast space, cleaning, polishing, and setting things to right. He could see the exhaustion on their faces, but they worked with a quiet diligence.

’I should probably start increasing everyone’s salary,’ Alaric thought, just as Jonathan appeared, already looking composed and in command despite the late night. ’Especially Jonathan. He’s had it rough managing everything in this mansion.’

”Coffee, Master Alaric?” Jonathan asked, his voice a calm murmur.

”Please,” Alaric nodded.

”Oh, you’re up.”

Alaric turned to see his uncle Bernard and aunt Linette descending the grand staircase. Bernard was yawning widely, while Linette walked with the straight-backed posture of a noblewoman, looking as fresh as if she’d had a full night’s sleep.

”Good morning, unc, auntie.”

”Good morning, lad.”

”Good morning, ’Laric.”

The two joined him, sinking into one of the plush sofa arrangements. They picked up newspapers from the coffee table, the comfortable silence of family settling over them.

One by one, the others began to emerge, drawn by the smell of fresh coffee and the promise of a quiet morning.

Soon, the living room was filled with the core members of their strange, extended family, all sipping either coffee or Celestial Tea. The men lit their cigars, the rich smoke mingling with the aroma of the tea, a scent that had become the signature of the Kenway household.

Alaric looked around at the faces... his parents, his aunt and uncle, Reuben and Flavia, Thulani and Aveline, Matteo, Caroline and her mother... a warm, unfamiliar feeling spread through his chest. There was not a day that passed when he wasn’t grateful for this second chance, for these people.

”By the way,” Alaric said, his voice cutting through the quiet chatter. ”I’m planning to make a warehouse filled with products again. Penn also entrusted me with a couple of thousand hectares for farming. We’re going to restart our brand... and make money.”

A ripple of excitement went through the room.

”Oh?”

”Finally.”

”Damn... more money, huh.”

”It was getting boring lately.”

The voices were all positive, eager. Alaric smiled. There was already a vast, empty space in the underground facility, ready to be filled. The vault in this house was massive, far larger than the one in Bristol.

’I should visit Bristol these days,’ he thought, taking a final, satisfying drag from his cigar.

Just then, Bernard and Linette, who had been quietly reading their respective newspapers, gasped in unison. The sound was sharp, filled with such genuine shock that it cut through the relaxed atmosphere like a knife.

”Something happened to you?”

”Huh?”

”You good?”

Every head turned towards them.

”Is everything alright?” Kassandra asked, descending the final steps of the grand staircase. She was dressed in a simple but elegant white dress, looking refreshed and radiant. She walked to Alaric’s side, her presence a calming anchor in the suddenly tense room.

Bernard and Linette looked up from their papers, their faces pale. They exchanged a wide-eyed, horrified look, seemingly unable to speak.

Alaric frowned, a flicker of concern passing through him. He reached over and took the newspaper from his uncle’s trembling hand, turning to the second page, which he knew contained news from London. His eyes scanned the headline, then the article below.

Alaric Jonathan Kenway

Alias: The Crimson Coat, Il Corvo d’Ombra

Crime: Massacre of Two Thousand Righteous Soldiers of Great Britain.

Bounty: £500,000

’Damn... took them long enough, the letter was obvious though,’ Alaric thought, cupping his chin with his hand. ’I should definitely visit Bristol and see how it’s going...’

”...”

”...”

”ALARIC JONATHAN KENWAY!”

The shriek tore from Eleanor’s throat. She shot to her feet, her face a mask of shock, fear, and a raw, maternal fury that no one in the room had ever seen before. ”What in the nine hells did you do!?”

It was everyone else’s turn to be shocked. Eleanor, the quiet, gentle heart of the family, was radiating an anger that was almost palpable.

”...Umm... relax, Ma,” Alaric began, trying for a calming smile, but she wasn’t having it. She snatched the newspaper from Linette’s hand, rolled it into a tight, weaponized tube, and marched over to him.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

She began hitting him on the shoulder with the rolled-up paper, the blows carrying more fury than force. It did no physical damage, of course, but Alaric flinched, more from surprise than pain. ”Okay, okay! Stop!”

She stopped, glaring at him, her chest heaving. Then she hit him again, one last, emphatic time. ”Is it true!?”

”Um... why did you hit me before confirming it?”

”IS IT TRUE!?”

”Y-Yes!” Alaric finally admitted, raising his hands in surrender. ”They were going to hunt for Il Corvo d’Ombra which is Reuben and take over Bristol to continue the slave trade in the process!”

He was about to launch into a detailed, logical explanation, but Eleanor simply sank back into her seat, the fight seeming to drain out of her as quickly as it had appeared, leaving a deep, weary fear in its place.

”...”

”...”

”...”

Kassandra, the two-thousand-year-old warrior, was speechless. She watched the scene, a flicker of profound amusement in her ancient eyes. Alaric, the man who could shatter mountains and command armies, was being disciplined by his mother with a newspaper.

”To be honest, I expected more,” Alaric muttered, trying to lighten the mood. ”Like a million or two.”

”Don’t worry...”

His mother’s glare returned, sharp as a dagger. ”Who says I’m worried about you!?” she snapped, her voice trembling with a different kind of fear now. ”I’m worried about us! The people of Pennsylvania already know of our family. We were trying to lay low here! I know we are building a kingdom to oppose Britain, but we are not there yet!” Her voice rose with each word. ”There’s no kingdom yet!”

”Well...” Alaric started, but Kassandra subtly elbowed him in the ribs. He glanced at her and saw her shake her head almost imperceptibly. His father and uncle were giving him the same intense, silent warning. He shut his mouth.

Everyone in the room knew how powerful Alaric was. But they also knew the power of a mother’s worry, and that was a force not even he could easily deflect.

”I’m sorry, Mom,” he said finally, his voice sincere.

”...”

”Hmm... I’ll TRY not to battle against two thousand men on my own again,” Alaric added, a sheepish smile returning. ”I mean, I let one live.”

”Damnit, kid,” Bernard sighed, massaging his temples.

As if by magic, the rich, savory aroma of breakfast began to waft in from the dining hall. Bacon, eggs, fresh bread. Everyone’s stomach rumbled in unison. The first to get up was Alaric.

”Wow, I’m hungry!” he declared, his voice a little too loud, a little too cheerful.

”...”

”...”

”...”

Everyone knew he was just trying to escape. Eleanor sighed, shaking her head, but the anger in her eyes had softened, replaced by a weary, maternal resignation. Alaric didn’t eat breakfast. He never had, not even as a child. But here he was, the most excited to eat.

’There’s no physicality... but I like this family,’ Kassandra thought, a small, genuine smile touching her lips as she watched Alaric make his hasty retreat towards the dining hall.

.

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