System in Assassin's Creed

Chapter 206: Chapter 205: アラリック・ジョナサン・ケンウェイ

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POOF!

With a swirl of smoke and displaced air, Alaric and Jiraiya materialized on the tiled roof of a tall building.

The transition was a sudden shift from the serene, nature-infused atmosphere of Mount Myōboku to the man-made energy of a busy town. Below them, the streets were a vibrant river of people, the air filled with the sounds of commerce, laughter, and the faint sound of a shamisen playing far away.

”Where are we?” Alaric asked, his gaze sweeping over the unfamiliar architecture, the colorful banners, and the lively crowd below.

”What do you mean? We’re in Tanzaku Gai,” Jiraiya replied, his brow furrowed as he turned to look at the man beside him. The question was odd, disorienting.

’Ah fuck, I keep messing up,’ the blonde internally grimaced, realizing his mistake. He was supposed to be from here.

Jiraiya’s eyes narrowed. This man was a walking contradiction. He said he was from here but doesn’t even know the place. The pieces didn’t fit. ”You’re really suspicious,” Jiraiya stated flatly, his earlier, easy-going demeanor gone, replaced by the sharp, analytical gaze.

Alaric held up his hands in a placating gesture, a disarming, almost sheepish smile on his face. ”Come on, mate,” he said, his voice losing its earlier formality. ”I only said I was from here because I don’t really have anywhere to call home. It was the first place that came to mind.”

’Mate? What’s that?’ Jiraiya continued to stare, his mind weighing the man’s words, his strange, unreadable aura. He finally let out a long, weary sigh. The man didn’t feel malicious, just... strange. ”It’s still lunchtime,” he said, changing the subject. ”How about a meal? My treat.”

”...Sure.”

---Minutes Later---

They sat in a small, clean restaurant, the air filled with the savory aroma of grilled meat and simmering broth. It wasn’t a high-class establishment, but the food was good, and the sake was strong.

’Is he rich?’ Alaric wondered, picking up his chopsticks with a practiced, elegant grace that did not go unnoticed by the man sitting opposite him. ’Ah, who am I kidding... he’s Jiraiya. Of course, he is. Would he give me some money if I borrow some?’

Jiraiya, for his part, was a study in controlled observation. While he appeared to be focused on his food, his senses were on high alert. He watched everything: the way Alaric sat, straight-backed and poised, a posture of command, not of a common wanderer. The way he held his chopsticks, with a familiarity that spoke of a refined upbringing. The way he ate, with a quiet efficiency that was almost military in its precision.

”Say,” Jiraiya began, his tone casual as he took a sip of sake. ”You said you don’t have anywhere to call home. How come?”

Alaric raised an eyebrow, took a sip of his water, and then gave a slight, almost dismissive shrug. ”Nothing really. Grew up an orphan. Wasn’t in an orphanage, just... grew up with less to no money.”

It was a perfect blend of truth and fiction. The first half was a complete fabrication, but the latter held the genuine sting of his early years in Wales. ”How about you, Jiraiya-san? How did you grow up, before you became one of the famous Sannin?”

This time, it was Jiraiya’s turn to raise an eyebrow. ”So you know of me,” he said, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. ”Well, it wasn’t that different. Like you, I grew up an orphan. But I was raised in an orphanage, under the Third Hokage’s care.”

’Hmm... I actually forgot about him being an orphan,’ Alaric thought, taking a bite of his food. ’Well, that makes sense. It was never explicitly said in the anime, and he has no surname.’

A quiet, slightly awkward silence settled between them as they continued to eat, two powerful, lonely men from different worlds, sharing a meal under a cloud of mutual suspicion.

”Ah... I must go,” Jiraiya finally said, draining his sake cup and placing it on the table with a soft click. He stood up, a polite smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. ”I’m a busy man. It was nice knowing you... Uh-laric.”

”It’s ’Alaric’,” the blonde sighed, a flicker of genuine annoyance in his voice before he, too, smiled and stood. ”It was a pleasure to meet you as well, Jiraiya-san.”

They walked out of the restaurant, Jiraiya having already paid for the meal. They stood on the busy street for a moment, then nodded to each other, turning to head in opposite directions.

Jiraiya walked a few paces, then stopped, ducking into a shadowed alleyway. He watched Alaric’s retreating back, his eyes narrowed, his arms folded across his chest. ’He’s too calm,’ he thought, his mind racing. ’Too composed, even after finding out who I am. I can spot a seasoned shinobi when I see one, and that man, despite his claims, is no civilian. Since he’s going there... I’d better notify Sensei immediately.’

He was about to bite his thumb to summon Kōsuke, his fastest messenger toad, but he froze. Alaric had stopped. He was turning around. He was walking back towards him. Jiraiya’s hand instinctively went to the kunai hidden in his sleeve, his body tensing for a fight.

Alaric stopped a few feet away, a look of profound, almost comical, embarrassment on his face.

”Ano...” he began, scratching the back of his head. ”Which direction is Konoha?”

’Eh?’

”...”

”...”

Jiraiya stared, his mind completely blank. He had been preparing for an ambush, a confrontation, a high-level jutsu. He had not been prepared for this. He let out a small, choked cough, his carefully constructed suspicion momentarily shattered by the sheer, unexpected banality of the question.

”J-Just go east from here,” he stammered, pointing a slightly trembling finger down the main road.

”...”

”...”

”Where’s east?”

Jiraiya’s jaw worked for a moment, but no sound came out. He looked at the towering man before him, at his utterly sincere, completely lost expression, and felt a headache beginning to form behind his eyes. He pointed at certain direction.

”That way,” he grunted, his voice tight with a mixture of disbelief and profound exasperation. ”Follow the road. Don’t get lost.”

With that, he turned and vanished in a swirl of leaves, not wanting to spend another second in the presence of this baffling, infuriating enigma.

---Hours Later---

Alaric walked for a time, enjoying the sights and sounds of this new world. The road out of Tanzaku Gai was well-traveled, lined with merchants, travelers, and the occasional shinobi patrol. But after an hour of walking at a human pace, his patience, a virtue he had in abundance for things that mattered and absolutely none for things that didn’t, wore thin.

”Ah, screw this,” he murmured to the empty road ahead. He ducked into a dense thicket of trees, ensuring he was out of sight. He focused a small amount of chakra into the fuinjutsu seal on his forearm, and with a faint, almost imperceptible hum, he floated into the air. He rose above the treetops, then shot off towards the east, becoming a crimson streak against the afternoon sky.

His flight was, he had to admit, a little boring. The Land of Fire was vast, a seemingly endless expanse of forests and rolling hills. ’It makes sense... it’s a country, after all,’ he mused, his altitude increasing until he was higher than the birds, the reduced air resistance allowing him to push his speed. ’I should tweak my flight seal. Maybe I can break the sound barrier...’

Another few hours passed. The sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon when he finally saw it... a massive, circular wall of stone and wood, situated in a vast forest, with the iconic, mountain-carved faces of the Shodaime, Nidaime, Sandaime, and Yondaime Hokage looking down upon it.

Konohagakure.

He descended in a secluded clearing, a good distance from the village, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention. He stood for a moment, considering his approach. He could Henge into a merchant, a simple traveler. It would be the smart, shinobi thing to do. But he wasn’t a shinobi. And frankly, he couldn’t be bothered.

’Fuck it,’ he thought, and started walking.

He emerged from the forest about a hundred meters from the main gate, giving the guards ample time to spot him, to avoid the shock of a giant in a crimson coat simply appearing out of nowhere. He saw the line of people waiting to be processed... a few returning shinobi, some merchants with their carts... and fell in behind them, his towering presence immediately drawing curious, and slightly intimidated, glances.

”Next,” a guard with a perpetually tired expression, a senbon held loosely in his mouth, called out.

Alaric stepped forward.

”If you’re a shinobi, please present your credentials, mission orders, or official papers,” the guard, Izumo Kamizuki, recited in a bored monotone. ”If you’re a merchant or traveler, state your business and present your travel permits.”

”Oh,” Alaric raised an eyebrow, nodding in understanding. ”My name is Alaric Jonathan Kenway. I’m a civilian from Tanzaku Gai. Unfortunately, I was robbed on the road. A few men took everything I had. Even my papers.”

”Hmmm,” the other guard, Kotetsu Hagane, looked him up and down, his gaze lingering on the fine, expensive-looking crimson coat. ”They took everything but left that on your back?”

”I ran,” Alaric replied with a confident, easy smile.

Izumo and Kotetsu exchanged a look, a silent, practiced communication passing between them. They had seen all sorts, and this man, despite his strange story, didn’t set off any of their internal alarms. Kotetsu sighed and picked up a clipboard and a pen. ”What did you say your name was again?”

”Ah, it’s Alaric... Jonathan... Kenway,” Alaric enunciated clearly, a polite smile on his face.

He watched as Kotetsu began to write, his brush moving swiftly. When the guard turned the board for him to confirm, Alaric’s smile became a little dry. There, in neat, elegant script, was his name, translated into a form he could read, but not one he had ever used.

アラリック・ジョナサン・ケンウェイ (Ararikku Jonasan Kenwei)

’Ah, fuck,’ he thought, a wave of profound, almost surreal amusement washing over him. ’Of course.’

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