System in Assassin's Creed

Chapter 298: Chapter 297: Left and Right

---The Forests - Land of Rivers---

The forest did not breathe. It held its quiet as if aware that something fragile, something long suppressed, was beginning to shift.

Itachi remained still, his cloak falling in perfect lines, eyes fixed on Alaric. For a long moment, no words came. There was only the faint rustle of leaves, the subtle pulse of life in the blurred space around them, and the echo of truths that had never been spoken aloud.

Alaric watched him calmly, not pressing, simply observing.

”You have lived,” Alaric said quietly, ”believing your presence alone is the axis on which the Akatsuki’s plans turn. That your absence will invite calamity.”

Itachi’s hands flexed, unconsciously at first, then deliberately restrained. He blinked once, slowly, as if measuring the weight of the words.

Absence... axis...

He had carried this belief for so long that hearing it challenged seemed almost sacrilegious. And yet, he felt no anger. Only the cold, creeping awareness that he might have been mistaken.

”As I said... you are not the lynchpin anymore,” Alaric continued. ”Your role is over. The world has already moved beyond the calculus that dictated your suffering.”

Itachi’s lips pressed into a thin line. He exhaled, softly, almost inaudibly. His eyes, still tomoe-patterned, narrowed... not with suspicion, but with thought. For the first time, he let himself imagine a path not constrained by obligation or punishment.

”You speak as though life is a road with only two directions,” he murmured. ”Left or right. Suffering in one hand, destruction in the other.”

Alaric smiled faintly, the movement slow and deliberate.

”That is exactly the point,” he said. ”It is never only left or right. There are roads you cannot see because you are too busy thinking yourself trapped.”

Itachi’s eyes flicked to Haku, who stood slightly behind Alaric, silent, expression unreadable. The boy’s gaze was fixed on Alaric, on the way the older man spoke... not with arrogance, not with persuasion, but with certainty. A certainty that did not demand obedience, only recognition.

Haku’s fingers twitched slightly. In that small gesture was the memory of a lifetime of servitude to Zabuza, the years spent as nothing but a weapon. And beneath it, the fleeting moments under Alaric’s guidance, when Haku had been allowed to exist as something more than a tool. Something with choice. Something with a will. He had had time to figure out what he wanted after Alaric left him for two years.

’To live without the fear of being used,’ Haku thought. ’To step onto a path I did not inherit, but one I claim for myself. Somewhat... Sensei seems to be reminding me in some way.’

Itachi’s focus returned to Alaric.

”You do not even know,” Alaric said, voice low, almost deliberate in its casual weight, ”who truly controls the Akatsuki.”

Itachi’s gaze sharpened immediately, subtle but undeniable.

”You think it is Madara,” Alaric said, ”do you not?”

Itachi did not respond, though his jaw tightened slightly.

”You think Madara is the shadow behind everything. But your Madara,” Alaric said, flicking a hand as if swatting away illusion, ”is only Obito. The man you knew as a former student of your own comrades, a man you’ve already assessed and underestimated. And he is not even the true mastermind.”

’Well, it is Madara,’ Alaric thought as he took a drag from his cigar. ’However, he’s dead as of the moment...’

Itachi froze.

For the first time in years, his crimson eyes widened, the tomoe sharp against the dark shadow of thought. The mask he wore... the calm, measured face he had perfected over countless missions... trembled for a heartbeat.

Alaric let the silence stretch. He did not answer the unspoken question, did not offer the identity of the real leader. He simply exhaled smoke slowly and allowed the moment to exist, raw and unresolved.

”You now know,” Alaric said, voice quiet but deliberate, ”that even your vigilance, your sacrifices, and your suffering have been guided by assumptions. And assumptions, Itachi, are always incomplete.”

Itachi closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. A long, quiet inhale. And then he opened them again, slowly, the three tomoe blazing faintly as the mind raced in a way that his calm face could not betray.

Haku watched him. And in the observation, something settled. The lesson he had once sought from Alaric... what it meant to live, to choose, to exist beyond being a tool... resonated anew. He realized now that Alaric had never truly tried to convince Itachi with force. The older man had only shown him the cracks in the world and the possibility of stepping beyond them.

Itachi exhaled once, the breath shallow but deliberate. He did not speak immediately. He weighed the truths Alaric had laid bare: that Danzo’s manipulations no longer held, that the Akatsuki’s plans moved with or without him, that his role as a suffering instrument might already be obsolete, and, above all, that the very foundation of what he thought he knew... the identity of the leader, the axis of darkness... was false.

And yet, for the first time in years, he felt the faintest stirrings of something that had been denied him since childhood: the possibility of choice that was not predetermined.

Haku shifted slightly, silent, but attentive. This was a moment to observe, not to act. He understood, in that quiet, that true strength was not just mastery of skill or power. It was clarity. The courage to see the paths available, even if they had never been shown before.

Alaric’s gaze swept slowly from Haku to Itachi. His voice was low, patient, unwavering.

”Live, Itachi,” he said. ”Live, so that the world does not demand your pain as payment for what it fears. And live with Sasuke, if you will. That is no weakness. That is life.”

The forest waited, listening, while the weight of those words sank slowly into the stillness.

Itachi’s eyes lingered on Alaric, then lowered slightly. He did not speak. He did not need to. The widening of his eyes earlier, the subtle tension in his shoulders, the faint tremor of thought across decades of carefully maintained calm... these were all words enough.

Haku exhaled silently beside him. He had witnessed a master of perception encounter a lesson not about battle, but about living. And for the first time, Haku understood fully: the path of a tool, the path of suffering, the path of obligation... they could all be set aside if one had the courage to step forward.

Itachi’s gaze drifted past Alaric, past Haku, to the obscured forest beyond the seal. It was a world unchanged, yet entirely different. Paths that had seemed barred, roads that had seemed impossible... they were now open, if only he dared to walk them.

Still... silence overcame everything.

As Alaric could see it, Itachi was in deep thought. He didn’t want to forcefully take Itachi despite having the ability to do so. He took another drag from his cigar before reaching into his coat.

He pulled out a simple, blank scroll. He tossed it to Itachi.

Itachi caught it reflexively.

”If you wish to talk to me,” Alaric said, taking a final drag from his cigar. ”Just open the scroll and put some chakra into it. I’m available anytime. It’s a direct line.”

”Feel free to confirm everything I said about Danzo and the Akatsuki on your own, using any means... even torture. You have the skills.”

Itachi didn’t raise a brow, but he looked at the scroll, turning it over in his hands. Then he looked back at the tree.

Alaric was gone.

No Shunshin. No smoke. Just... absence.

Itachi couldn’t even widen his eyes from the amount of surprises he had today. He could only look back at the scroll, then at Haku.

The Ice-user didn’t even know what to say, because he too had learned a lesson this time.

They stared at each other for a moment, two prodigies caught in the wake of a hurricane.

’Awkward...’ Haku thought, a soft smile touching his lips. ’Sensei, why are you putting me in such a position...’

Seeing that Itachi was still deep in thought, Haku turned his back. He raised his hand in a casual goodbye pose to the Uchiha.

”Anyways... I’m going back to my squad... can you not... interfere?”

”...”

”...”

”...”

Itachi didn’t answer, but his silence wasn’t hostile.

”Anyways,” Haku’s smile didn’t drop. He activated his technique. ”Bye!”

Zero Friction.

He disappeared into the forest, leaving Itachi alone in the distortion field.

Itachi didn’t move. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to, but he couldn’t. The amount of information he had received in the span of a few minutes left him doubting everything he had believed in for a decade.

He looked at the spot where Alaric and Haku had stood. He stayed there for a few minutes, letting the silence wash over him, internalizing the impossible truths he had just been handed.

Finally, his body dissolved into a flock of crows, scattering into the wind.

’Interesting...’

---Akatsuki Hideout - River Country Cavern---

The silence of the cave was heavy, pressed down by millions of tons of rock. The air was damp, smelling of stagnation and sealed chakra.

In the center of the cavern, the Gedo Mazo was massive.

The demonic statue was a monstrosity of wood and malice, its nine eyes shut tight, its mouth agape. From its mouth, streams of phantom dragon-shaped chakra extended, latching onto the figure floating in the center of the ritual circle.

Gaara of the Sand.

The Kazekage was unconscious. His body was suspended in mid-air, bathed in a sickly blue light as the chakra of the One-Tailed Shukaku was forcibly ripped from his seal. He did not scream; he was beyond that now. His face was pale, his existence flickering like a candle in a gale.

Around him, the members of the Akatsuki stood on the statue’s outstretched fingers.

Most were holograms, flickering projections of rainbow light cast from distant locations. Deidara and Sasori were present in the flesh, guarding the entrance, their bodies rigid with concentration.

Pein stood at the apex. His projection was stable, his Rinnegan eyes open and glowing with a god-like detachment.

”Zetsu...” Pein started, his voice echoing in the hollow space. ”Dispose of the two we used for the Impersonation Jutsu. Their purpose is fulfilled.”

From the ground, the plant-like form of Zetsu merged seamlessly with the rock. The black and white halves of his face split in a grin.

”Understood,” Zetsu replied, his voice a dissonant harmony. ”They bought us enough time. The extraction is nearly thirty percent complete.”

”Itachi,” Pein commanded, turning his gaze to the Uchiha’s projection. ”Tell me about the enemy’s number and their features.”

Itachi stood on his designated finger. His cloak was still, his expression a mask of absolute indifference. He had returned to the ritual, his mind locking away the forest encounter into a vault of deep scrutiny.

”They’re a four-man squad,” Itachi replied, his voice monotonous, giving nothing away. ”Led by Hatake Kakashi. The members include Haruno Sakura, Uchiha Sasuke, and the Nine-Tails Jinchuriki, Naruto Uzumaki, from the Leaf...”

He paused. He did not mention Haku. He did not mention Alaric.

”They are pursuing rapidly. Their formation is tight.”

”Hmph,” Deidara scoffed from his perch. ”Let them come. My art will blow them all away, yeah!”

”Silence,” Sasori rasped from inside his Hiruko puppet. ”Focus on the extraction.”

The meeting went on, the droning chant of the sealing jutsu filling the cavern.

However, Itachi’s attention was split. While he maintained the flow of chakra required for the seal, his eyes drifted sideways.

He was staring at the figure lurking in the shadows of the cave’s periphery. A figure wearing a spiral orange mask.

Tobi.

From what Itachi knew... from what he had been led to believe for years... Tobi was Madara Uchiha. The legendary ghost. The mentor. The mastermind.

But now...

Alaric’s voice echoed in his mind, clearer than the ritual chant.

’Your Madara is only Obito... a man you’ve already assessed and underestimated. And he is not even the true mastermind.’

Itachi watched Tobi. He looked at the way the masked man stood—slouched, seemingly goofy, yet radiating a cold, spatial wrongness.

Doubt, once planted, is a weed that grows fast in the dark.

Itachi’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly.

’To the left or to the right...’ Itachi thought, the mantra playing over and over. ’Alaric... he speaks forward, yet not at the same time. He gave me the key, but left the door for me to find.’

He looked back at Gaara, watching the life drain out of the boy who was just like Naruto. Just like Sasuke.

’If Tobi is Obito...’ Itachi’s mind sharpened to a razor point. ’Then everything I did for ”Madara” was for a ghost that doesn’t exist.’

For the first time in a decade, Itachi felt a flicker of something dangerous. Not despair. Not duty.

Anger.

.

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