[Current Balance: £709,747,891 3s. 6d.]
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The guard captain, a stern-faced man with the calm, confident eyes of a veteran, stepped forward. "A man and a woman," he observed, his gaze sweeping over them.
"Follow me." His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an absolute authority. "If you even attempt to unsheathe any of your weapons, it will be your death."
The two intruders, seeing no other choice, nodded and followed.
They were cooperative, but deeply unnerved. As they were led towards the main estate, the other guards simply melted back into the shadows, returning to their posts as if nothing had happened. Only the captain and one other guard escorted them, one leading, one flanking.
Strangely, they hadn't been disarmed. It was either a sign of supreme confidence or a profound lack of experience. Given how flawlessly the ambush had been sprung, they suspected it was the former.
"Can I ask you something? If it's okay," the male infiltrator finally said, unable to contain his professional curiosity. "How did you find us? Or even catch wind of us sneaking by?"
"..."
"...Alright, no talking."
The guard captain glanced back at them over his shoulder, a flicker of something almost like amusement in his eyes. "We knew you were coming the moment you stepped out of the city center... towards Pennsbury Manor, and when you were heading in this direction."
"!!!" Both intruders' eyes widened in shock. They had been tailed all the way from there? Impossible. They were masters of stealth, of blending in.
'Pennsbury Manor!?' the woman thought, her mind racing. 'Did they tail us from there?'
As they continued their silent walk, the sheer scale of the estate began to reveal itself. They found themselves on a wide, smooth road, approaching the largest, most magnificent house they had ever seen. It was a palace, a fortress of Baroque grandeur that seemed to have been plucked from the heart of Europe and set down in the American wilderness. The backyard alone was larger than most London parks.
The guard led them along a narrow path that wound through an immaculate garden, towards a large, elegant gazebo built over a tranquil pond. Inside the gazebo, a man stood with his back to them, gazing down at the koi fish that swam in lazy circles in the moonlit water. He was a giant, his frame impossibly tall and broad, a lit cigar held loosely in one hand.
They came to a stop at the entrance to the gazebo. The guards bowed their heads slightly. "Master, we've accompanied the guests."
'Guests?' the two intruders thought in unison.
The guards didn't wait for a reply. They gave another respectful bow and then departed, melting back into the night.
The giant in the gazebo slowly turned around. He took a long, leisurely drag from his cigar, the glowing tip illuminating a face that was impossibly handsome, framed by a cascade of platinum-blonde hair. His blue eyes, holding an ancient, knowing amusement, settled on them.
"Suleiman Al Rashidi," he said, his voice a calm, resonant baritone. He then turned his gaze to the woman. "Helena." He smiled. "It's good to see you."
---
Meanwhile, somewhere in Madagascar...
The air in the rowdy pirate tavern in Libertalia was thick with the smell of cheap rum, unwashed bodies, and shattered dreams. Edward Oldgate, his massive frame squeezed onto a rickety stool, slammed his tankard down on the table, a wide, boisterous grin on his face.
"I tell ye, Cap'n," he boomed, his voice easily carrying over the din, "if ye lay eyes on that lad, ye'll be stunned by the treasure he's sittin' on... and the way he fights!"
Across from him, a man who was just as old, if not older, sighed, running a weary hand over his face. "I ain't in that life no more, Edward," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "Don't be callin' me Cap'n."
"Bah, ye've gone soft, Cap'n," Oldgate sighed dramatically, taking a drag from his Celestial Cigar. "Ye scared o' those British dogs who used to shiver in their boots at the sight of our sails? Yer Henry Avery, for God's sake!"
"...Try havin' ten thousand pounds on yer head," Henry Avery retorted, his legendary eyes holding a deep, profound weariness. "Bet ye wouldn't last a week."
"Heh? Ten thousand pounds?" Oldgate stared back at his former captain, then let out a hearty, dismissive laugh. He chugged the rest of his ale before slamming the tankard down again. "Ye know how much that lad paid me just to shift me sails? It's more than the price for yer head!"
"...Go on then."
"Fifty. Thousand. Pounds."
"WHAT!?" Henry Avery's eyes widened, the weariness momentarily replaced by pure, unadulterated shock. "Ye gotta be pullin' me leg!"
"Pullin'?" Oldgate raised a single, bushy eyebrow, a smug smirk on his face. "Have ye seen me ship these days? Spent twenty thousand on makin' the La Providencia bigger 'n stronger. Got a whole new crew now, and me pockets are still overflowin'!"
"O-Oi, Edward Oldgate," Avery stammered, staring at his former first mate. "Ye've raked in that much coin and ye're still chasin' the sea? How greedy can one man be?"
Oldgate grinned and signaled for another round, then took a long, satisfying drag from his cigar. "Nay, Cap'n," he said, his voice dropping slightly, a strange, almost reverent look in his eyes. "It's yer greed that's gone missin'."
"Alaric," he continued, the name spoken with a mixture of awe and fear. "That lad don't even blink payin' me fifty thousand pounds." He leaned forward, his voice a low, conspiratorial rumble. "Soon as I'm back in Philadelphia, I'm hoistin' me sails under his flag!"
---
The giant in the gazebo slowly turned around. He took a long, leisurely drag from his cigar, the glowing tip illuminating a face that was impossibly handsome, framed by a cascade of platinum-blonde hair. His blue eyes piercing the ones who looked.
Helena's breath caught in her throat. Despite the impossible height, the aura of immense power, she recognized that face, those eyes. "A-Alaric?"
"...W-What?" The man beside her, Suleiman Al Rashidi, stared, his own eyes wide with disbelief. "That's Alaric!?"
"Good evening, both of you," Alaric smiled, the smoke curling from his lips. He gestured towards the comfortable seating within the gazebo. "And guys... stop hiding, will ya?"
Helena and Suleiman exchanged a confused look, but their eyes widened again as a dark-haired man seemed to detach himself from the shadows in the corner of the gazebo. He had been there the entire time, yet they hadn't sensed him, hadn't seen him until he chose to be seen.
"Good evening."
They both flinched, spinning around as a deep, calm voice spoke from just a meter behind them. A mountain of a man, his skin the color of rich earth, stood there, his presence as solid and immovable as the ancient oaks surrounding them. Their senses, honed by decades of life-or-death situations, screamed danger.
These children… no, these men… they had grown up. And they carried themselves like veterans of a hundred wars.
Suleiman turned his gaze back to the towering blonde, his mind struggling to reconcile the boy he remembered with the man who stood before him. "You're... Alaric, right?"
"And you're Thulani," Suleiman said, turning his head to the powerful African warrior. He then looked at the dark-haired man, who was now lighting a cigar of his own. "You're not bald anymore, but you must be Reuben."
"..." Reuben's eye twitched at the mention of his former hairstyle. He sighed, exhaling a plume of smoke. "Yes, I am Reuben."
"Wow... I mean, I am surprised," Suleiman said, shaking his head in wonder. "You boys are so tall... and Thulani, you no longer have that fear in your eyes."
"...Yes, because of Alaric," Thulani replied with a simple, profound nod. He walked to one of the large sofa-chairs within the gazebo and sat, his movements surprisingly graceful for a man his size. The others, sensing the shift, followed suit, taking seats around a low table.
Alaric smiled, settling into a chair opposite them, crossing his long legs. "So," he began, taking a drag from his cigar, "I see you met Penn before coming here. How have you both been?"
With that, the initial tension broke, and Helena and Suleiman began to share their stories. They spoke of the years since they had last been in Bristol.
Suleiman had risen to the rank of Master Assassin in the Egyptian Brotherhood, granted full autonomy, and had chosen to spend his later years exploring the West.
Helena, too, had achieved the rank of Master, her work in Boston disrupting Templar operations and earning her the respect of the entire Colonial Brotherhood.
They had, by sheer coincidence, met again on the same ship bound for Philadelphia, both drawn by the same alarming news.
"So, you guys... two thousand men, aye?" Helena smirked, her earlier shock replaced by a familiar, professional curiosity. She crossed her arms, her green eyes sharp. "The three of you are doing impossible things now."
"...Yeah, we've been training," Alaric replied with a casual smile.
Solomon leaned forward, his expression serious. "I also received the intel. Alaric, you're mad. Going against the entire British Empire is a death wish."
"Is that why the both of you came here?" Reuben asked, his voice quiet but direct. "You were concerned that Alaric would get himself killed?"
"Absolutely," Helena confirmed with a firm nod. She sighed, her gaze moving from Thulani to Alaric, then back to Reuben. "It might have been fine if he had concealed his identity, but no. Everyone in Britain and the surrounding countries now knows the name 'Alaric Jonathan Kenway'. Crimson coat, platinum hair, a giant of a man."
"Yes, the moment you set foot in London, you'll be surrounded by hundreds of guards," Suleiman added, nodding in agreement. "It is admirable that you have a cause, kid. You fought against slavery. But you should have waited, built an army if you could."
"...Well, this is awkward," Reuben said, taking a drag from his cigar before explaining. "Hundreds of guards? Please."
"Yes?" Suleiman's brow rose. "What do you mean?"
"He means that hundreds of guards would be a disrespect to Alaric," Thulani chuckled, his deep voice rumbling. "That's because it was Alaric, alone, who faced the two thousand soldiers. Unscathed."
"...WHAT!?"
"IMPOSSIBLE!"
"...Impossible? Maybe by your standards," Alaric's own brows rose, though he couldn't hide the amused smile at the corners of his lips. He took a final drag from his cigar and looked at the two stunned Master Assassins.
"Who are these people, Agápi mou?"
Helena and Suleiman's heads snapped towards the entrance of the gazebo. Once again, they hadn't sensed anyone approaching.
A woman, dressed in a simple but elegant white sleeping gown, walked into the gazebo, her hand resting gently on her visibly pregnant belly. She was, Helena thought with a pang of professional and feminine appreciation, the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.
"Kassandra, my love," Alaric smiled, standing up from his seat. "Meet Helena and Suleiman. Remember I told you about the two who took us in back in Bristol, seventeen years ago?"
Kassandra's brow rose in recognition as she remembered their conversation in Thera. "Oh! Good evening, both of you," she said, her voice a warm, melodic sound. "My name is Kassandra."
"Ah yes, Suleiman Al Rashidi," Solomon nodded, rising to shake her hand.
"And I am Helena Ashcombe," Helena followed suit, a polite smile on her face. "It's a pleasure to meet Alaric's wife."
Kassandra blushed slightly at the title but nodded graciously. "It's lovely to meet you both tonight." She then turned to Alaric, her expression softening. "And Agápi mou... Bernard and Linette can't hide their excitement anymore. It seems they want to meet the guests immediately."
"Yeah, let's head inside," Alaric nodded, a warm smile on his face as he took Kassandra's hand. They started walking towards the mansion, leaving their stunned guests to follow.
'Ahh... what a good reunion.'
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