System in Assassin's Creed

Chapter 386: Chapter 385: Ciao

Amegakure - The Central Tower

The private dining quarters of the central tower offered a stark, domestic contrast to the bleak, industrial expanse of Amegakure. It was a modest room, smelling faintly of roasted root vegetables and spiced broth, illuminated by the warm, flickering glow of paper lanterns that chased away the perpetual gloom of the Rain Village.

Seated around a low, rectangular wooden table, the atmosphere was a complex tapestry of lingering tension, profound relief, and profound awkwardness.

Alaric Jonathan Kenway sat at the head of the table, his posture entirely relaxed as he scooped a generous portion of braised pork into his bowl. To his left sat Jiraiya, the legendary Sannin uncharacteristically quiet as he nursed a small cup of sake. Opposite Alaric sat his newly anointed disciples: Nagato, whose vibrant crimson hair and flawless, ripple-patterned eyes seemed to glow in the lantern light, and Konan, who sat rigidly, her posture impeccably straight but her amber eyes betraying a profound, internal conflict.

”I have to admit,” Alaric commented smoothly, breaking the heavy silence as he chewed a piece of perfectly seasoned meat. He swallowed, gesturing casually with his chopsticks toward the spread of dishes. ”For an S-rank terrorist who spent the last decade folding paper and managing a militant religious cult, you possess surprisingly decent culinary abilities, Konan.”

Konan froze, her chopsticks hovering mid-air.

A faint, uncertain flush touched her pale cheeks. She absolutely did not know how to process the compliment, let alone the casual, entirely mundane dynamic of this new master-disciple relationship. The concept of discipleship itself wasn’t inherently foreign to her... she and Nagato had previously thrived under Jiraiya’s tutelage, after all... but the physical reality of the situation was jarring.

Alaric was chronologically younger than both of them. He didn’t carry the weathered, fatherly wisdom of Jiraiya, nor the ancient, decrepit authority of a man like Madara. He was a young man in his absolute prime, yet he exuded a terrifying, absolute dominance that made the age gap feel utterly irrelevant. It simply didn’t make conventional sense. But Nagato had thoroughly briefed her on the terms of their survival while she cooked, and she knew there was no escaping the contract.

’It is better to serve a master as overwhelmingly, impossibly strong as Alaric, a man under whom we might genuinely grow to protect this village,’ Konan rationalized silently, forcing her rigid shoulders to lower a fraction. ’Than to die clinging to a fractured godhood and leave Ame to the wolves.’

”Thank you, Alaric-sama,” Konan finally replied, her voice soft and painfully formal, bowing her head slightly over her bowl.

Alaric merely chuckled at the stiff honorific, returning his attention to his meal. ”No need for the ’sama’.”

Jiraiya, however, was struggling to adopt the same laid-back demeanor. The Toad Sage set his sake cup down with a sharp clack, running a heavy, calloused hand through his spiky white hair.

”Speaking of managing cults and villages,” Jiraiya began, his dark eyes shifting from the restored Nagato to the blonde anomaly at the head of the table. ”Where exactly have you been, Alaric? It has been four days since you flattened the sky. I was genuinely considering mobilizing and heading straight to the Land of Grass to aid the frontline forces myself, since the immediate threat in the Land of Rain had effectively been neutralized.”

”I had things to do,” Alaric answered vaguely, not looking up from his bowl. ”Errands. Logistical management. The usual.”

Jiraiya fell silent, his jaw tightening slightly. The vague, dismissive answer did absolutely nothing to soothe the turbulent storm of questions raging in the Sannin’s seasoned mind.

There were simply too many impossible variables left entirely unexplained. Why did a man of Alaric’s unparalleled, god-like power need to absent himself during the absolute climax of a continental war? What ’errands’ could possibly supersede the mobilization of Iwagakure? And, perhaps the most terrifying, unspoken question of all: how in the hell did Nagato, who had his eyes brutally gouged out by Obito, suddenly possess a flawless, biologically integrated pair of Rinnegan upon Alaric’s return?

Jiraiya had asked Nagato about the miraculous transplant earlier, but his former student had merely smiled a serene, peaceful smile and politely declined to elaborate, stating that a disciple does not reveal his master’s secrets.

Jiraiya let out a long, heavy sigh, deciding to shelve the mysteries for the sake of immediate, tactical reality.

”Regardless of your errands,” Jiraiya shifted the conversation, reaching into his vest to produce a small, tightly rolled messenger scroll. ”I received a high-priority dispatch from Tsunade a few hours ago via a summoning toad. Konoha’s forward sensory divisions have confirmed it: Ōnoki has officially mobilized. The Third Tsuchikage has abandoned his village and is currently nearing the primary battlefields in the Land of Grass, leading a massive detachment of their absolute finest reserves.”

The temperature in the dining room dropped. Even Nagato and Konan, functionally removed from the war, recognized the catastrophic weight of a Kage taking the field.

”And lastly,” Jiraiya continued, his gaze locking onto Alaric with a mixture of profound awe and lingering disbelief. ”According to Tsunade’s report... your prized student, Yuki Haku, has officially broken his solitary containment in the Land of Waterfalls. He has rapidly relocated to the Land of Grass to directly reinforce our collapsing vanguard, specifically in anticipation of the Tsuchikage’s imminent arrival.”

Alaric paused, a piece of braised pork halfway to his mouth. He raised a single, platinum-blonde brow, munching thoughtfully on his meal before finally swallowing.

”Is that so?” Alaric asked mildly, leaning back in his chair. ”And how is my student faring before this grand relocation?”

Jiraiya shook his head, a genuine, breathless laugh of sheer disbelief escaping his lips as he tossed the scroll onto the table.

”How is he faring?” Jiraiya repeated, rubbing his temples as if staving off a headache. ”According to the official frontline reports... Haku didn’t just hold the northern flank. He systematically, manually slaughtered almost a thousand elite Iwa-nin in the Land of Waterfalls. A thousand men, Alaric. The boy’s title as the ’Ice Demon’ has officially transcended mere rumor; it has solidified into absolute, terrifying fact across all the Great Villages. There are already veteran commanders within Konoha elevating Haku’s status to rival the mythic body counts of Minato during the Third War.”

Alaric listened to the staggering, bloody statistics, and instead of displaying shock or solemn reflection, a low, incredibly proud chuckle rumbled deep within his chest.

”A thousand?” Alaric smiled, picking up his chopsticks again. ”The boy has certainly been busy applying his physics lessons. Good for him.”

The casual dismissal of a thousand casualties as a mere ’physics lesson’ made Jiraiya physically wince, while Nagato and Konan exchanged a brief, profoundly bewildered glance.

Alaric finished the last bite of his meal, setting his chopsticks down neatly across his bowl. He reached into his coat, retrieving a premium cigar. With a practiced, elegant motion, he used a small, razor-sharp kunai to snip the edge of the tobacco leaf before summoning a tiny, focused spark of Fire Release to his fingertip, lighting the end perfectly.

He took a long, savory drag, letting the aromatic smoke curl toward the wooden ceiling.

”Well,” Alaric announced, his voice carrying the effortless, unhurried cadence of a man deciding to take a leisurely evening stroll. ”Now that we’ve finished this lovely dinner, why don’t both of us pop over to the Land of Grass and see if we can help wrap up this little border dispute?”

Jiraiya looked at the anomaly, his expression weary but resolute. He shook his head slowly.

”No,” Jiraiya declined, his dark eyes shifting toward the silent figures of Nagato and Konan. ”Since you are finally present and capable of ending the war on your own, I will stay behind. I need to remain in Amegakure to look after my students. We... we have a great deal of lost time and broken philosophy to mend.”

Alaric paused, the cigar hovering near his lips. He looked at the old Sannin, recognizing the deep, fatherly need to finally heal the wounds he had inadvertently left behind decades ago. He then shifted his gaze to the silent, watchful disciples sitting across from him. Nagato offered a small, respectful nod, while Konan simply lowered her eyes in quiet acquiescence.

”Fair enough,” Alaric conceded, a faint, understanding smile touching his lips as he stood up from the table, his imposing frame dominating the small dining room.

He adjusted the lapels of his flak jacket, taking one final, deep drag of his cigar. The playful, laid-back aura surrounding him hardened instantly, replaced by the chilling, absolute certainty of an apex predator.

”I’mma go and see exactly what’s going on over there, then,” Alaric declared, raising two fingers in a lazy, highly informal salute. ”And thanks for the food, Konan... ciao.”

Before the smoke from his exhalation could even begin to dissipate, a blinding, concussive flash of golden-platinum light engulfed the dining room.

When the light cleared, leaving only the scent of ozone mixing with the roasted pork, the seat at the head of the table was entirely empty.

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