[Current Balance: 4,755,411,970,700 Mon]
---Previously---
"I am Alaric Jonathan Kenway. From a small town called Swansea, in a country far to the west called Wales."
He looked at their stunned faces, the fear and awe warring in their eyes. He let his smile soften.
"And no," he added gently, his voice losing its earlier edge. "I am not your enemy. I have no allegiance to the Templar Order. But… I am not a member of your Brotherhood, either. I am simply… myself. And I am here to find my family."
---Now---
Chiyome's hand, which had been hovering near the kunai in her sleeve, slowly lowered. The instinct to fight, to react to the unknown threat, was completely extinguished, replaced by a profound, paralyzing awe. Her mind, honed by decades of espionage and assassination, simply could not compute what she had just seen. She looked from the unconscious Italian missionary to the towering, blonde gaijin, and for the first time in a very long time, she felt like a novice, a student in the presence of something far beyond her understanding.
Kensei finally broke from his stupor. He let out a long, shaky breath, the sound unnaturally loud in the silent bureau. He looked at Alaric, then at the unconscious Sidotti, then back at Alaric. He ran a trembling hand over his face.
"I see..." Kensei said, his voice was a hoarse whisper. "This is... all unbelievable."
Silence descended again, this time filled not with tension, but with the heavy weight of a paradigm shattering. Alaric patiently waited, taking another slow sip of his tea, giving the old Assassins the time they needed to process the impossible.
Finally, Kensei seemed to gather himself. He squared his shoulders, the discipline of a lifetime reasserting itself, though the shock still lingered in his ancient eyes. He walked slowly back to his seat at the low table and sank onto the cushion, his movements were stiff.
"As for the other gaijin..." Kensei began, his voice steadier now as he consciously shifted his focus to fulfilling his end of their bargain. "Your family... as far as our intelligence network could find, she sailed west from Nagasaki. Our last confirmed lead is that she boarded a ship in the harbor there, months ago."
He looked up, meeting Alaric's calm gaze. "Towards where? I do not know. The ship was not logged for any official destination. It simply… vanished into the sea."
Alaric nodded slowly, the information confirming his own suspicions. 'So she's in Joseon…' he thought, his mind already calculating the distance, the time. He had a Hiraishin marker in Nagasaki; getting to the coast would be instant. From there, flying to Korea would be a simple matter. 'I could probably catch up if I speed up fast...'
He looked back at the old Maestro, who was now staring at him with a new kind of intensity. It wasn't hostility, but a deep, grudging respect. Kensei slowly, deliberately, lowered his head, pressing his forehead to the floor in a deep, formal bow—the dogeza, the ultimate sign of deference and apology.
"Ah... Alaric-dono," Kensei's voice was muffled by the floor, but it carried a profound sincerity. "Arigatō..." (Thank you). "If not for you, many of our brothers and sisters would have been injured, or would have died, attempting to retrieve Giovanni."
Chiyome, seeing her husband's gesture, followed suit, bowing deeply as well.
"No worries," Alaric said with an easy smirk. He finished his tea and stood up, placing the empty cup back on the table. He walked towards the staircase leading out of the bureau, his boots making soft sounds on the wooden floor. He paused at the exit, one hand on the wall, and looked back at them.
"Ah and..." he said, a playful glint entering his eyes. "You should go to the Edo castle by tomorrow. You'll be happy with my gift."
"...Nani?" Kensei looked up from his bow, his face a mask of confusion.
"Heh..." Alaric just chuckled, then turned and walked up the stairs, disappearing from their sight, leaving the two Master Assassins alone in their hidden sanctuary with an unconscious missionary and a profound sense of having just interacted with a force of nature.
'Now...' Alaric thought as he emerged back into the quiet shrine above, the cool night air greeting him. 'I guess it's my time to meet Arai Hakuseki...'
---
The air in the Shogun's private study was calm and smelled faintly of old parchment and warm green tea.
Arai Hakuseki sat in the formal seiza position, his back straight, a gentle, patient smile on his face.
Opposite him, at a low lacquered desk, sat Tokugawa Ietsugu, the five-year-old ruler of Japan. The boy's small hand gripped a brush, his brow furrowed in concentration as he meticulously traced the complex strokes of a new kanji character.
These moments were the ones Arai cherished most. Away from the endless political maneuvering, the whispers of the court, and the heavy burden of governance, he was simply a teacher, guiding a young, remarkably bright mind. The young Shogun was a quick study, his intellect sharp and his curiosity boundless. It was a peaceful, orderly existence.
"Very good, Ietsugu-sama," Arai said softly, his voice a warm murmur. "Your form improves with every stroke. Remember the balance. The character for 'law' must itself have order."
The boy nodded seriously, not looking up from his work.
This quiet sanctuary, this bubble of scholarly peace, was Arai's anchor in a world of shifting tides. He felt a sense of purpose here, a genuine hope for the future of the nation resting on the small shoulders of the boy before him.
A soft, almost hesitant voice from the corridor broke the tranquility.
"Arai-sama... a report."
Arai did not turn his head. His patient smile remained fixed on the young Shogun. He simply nodded slightly.
"Why don't you continue with the next kanji, young master?" he said gently to Ietsugu. "Practice the character for 'benevolence'. I will return in a moment."
With a nod from the focused child, Arai rose gracefully to his feet. He slid the fusuma door open and stepped out into the corridor, closing it quietly behind him so as not to disturb the Shogun's concentration. A trusted servant stood there, his head bowed low, his face pale.
Arai began to walk down the long, polished wooden corridor towards his own private offices, the servant following a few respectful paces behind.
"So..." Arai said, his voice was a low, even tone. "What is it?"
"My lord," the servant began, his voice trembling slightly. "It is about the Kirishitan Yashiki."
Arai paused his stride for just a fraction of a second.
"There has been... an incident. The gaijin priest, Giovanni Sidotti… he has escaped."
The world seemed to go silent for a moment. Arai stopped walking completely, though he did not turn around. The servant behind him held his breath, bracing for the inevitable storm of his master's anger.
"Escaped?" Arai finally asked, his voice was dangerously quiet. "From Kirishitan Yashiki? That is impossible."
"Did he have assistance?" Arai pressed, his mind already racing through the possibilities. "Did one of our own betray us? What of the Hatamoto guards? Report."
The servant swallowed hard. "My lord... that is... we do not know if he had assistance. As for the prison..." The servant hesitated, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.
"Everyone at Kirishitan Yashiki is either dead or unconscious."
Arai's back went rigid. The air around him seemed to grow cold. Dead? Unconscious? The entire garrison of the most secure prison in Edo? The Shogun's elite Hatamoto guard?
It was not just impossible; it was unthinkable. It was an act of war, carried out silently in the heart of their city.
He felt a surge of cold fury rise within him, so intense it made his hands tremble. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms, forcing the rage down, containing it behind a mask of icy control.
He almost lashed out, almost turned and struck the foolish servant for delivering such catastrophic news. But he was Arai Hakuseki. He was a statesman. He was in control.
He took a slow, deep breath.
"I see," he said, his voice was a flat, dead sound. He started walking again. "Leave me."
The servant bowed deeply, his forehead nearly touching the floorboards, then scrambled away with a haste that bordered on panic.
Arai continued walking until he reached the sliding paper doors of his own private office, his sanctuary. He needed to be alone. He needed to think. He needed to understand the nature of the enemy who could accomplish such a feat.
He placed his hand on the wooden frame of the door, took another deep breath to center himself, and slid it open.
He widened his eyes.
His sanctuary was not empty.
Sprawled out on the tatami mats in the center of the room, lying on his back with one arm tucked behind his head in a position of complete and utter relaxation, was a man.
A huge man. A gaijin.
He was a giant, towering even when lying down, clad in a strange, fine crimson coat draped over a ruffled white shirt. His hair, a brilliant platinum blonde that seemed to absorb the light from the paper screen windows, was fanned out on the floor around his head. His eyes were closed, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips, as if he were enjoying a pleasant nap.
Arai stared, his mind, which had been reeling from one impossibility, now confronted with another. How had this man gotten in here? Past the guards, past the locked doors, into the very heart of his private domain?
As if sensing his presence, the man's eyes slowly opened. They were a startling, piercing blue, the color of a deep ocean, and they held an ancient, almost bored amusement.
The man's smile widened slightly.
"You must be Arai Hakuseki..." he said, his Japanese was flawless, his voice a calm, resonant baritone that filled the silent room.
"...why don't you sit down on the floor with me?"
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