[Current Balance: 4,755,411,970,700 Mon]
---Pennsbury Manor---
Located in the manor was a building commissioned by Penn. It was brand new.
The building was new.
It stood on a gentle rise within the grounds of Pennsbury Manor, a simple but elegant structure of dark timber and locally made red brick. It was not a place of residence, but a place of purpose… a formal meeting hall, constructed with Kenway funds at Penn's request over the past few months.
Its single, vast chamber was dominated by a long, impossibly smooth mahogany table, so polished it reflected the afternoon light filtering through the tall glass windows.
Around this table sat a gathering that represented the strange, potent alliance that had formed in this corner of the New World.
William Penn, looking revitalized and a decade younger than his years, sat at the head of the table, his usual calm demeanor now underpinned by a new, almost unsettling resolve.
To his right sat the core of the Kenway family: Leonard and Eleanor, Bernard and Linette. They were no longer the struggling farmers from Wales. Wealth had given them a new confidence, and Alaric's "enhancements" had given them a vitality that belied their middle age. They were landowners, business managers, and the quiet financial engine of this entire enterprise.
Kassandra sat beside them calmly. She observed everyone with her sharp amber eyes, her millennia of experience giving her a perspective no one else at the table could possibly comprehend.
Reuben and Flavia sat together. Across from them, Thulani was a silent, imposing mountain of a man, the hilt of the greatsword Excalibur just visible over his shoulder. Matteo Auditore, the old Assassin Mentor, sat stiffly, his expression unreadable, a man of shadows thrust into the light of open council.
And then there were Penn's guests.
Seated along the other side of the table were a dozen men and women, the most influential leaders of the Quaker communities in Pennsylvania and the neighboring colonies. They were merchants, landowners, and thinkers, people of principle and considerable wealth, dressed in the simple but fine fabrics that marked their station. Reuben watched them, his eyes sharp.
He recognized some of the names Penn had mentioned: Isaac Norris, a shrewd merchant from Philadelphia; Sarah Harrison, a respected elder known for her unwavering pacifist convictions; James Logan, Penn's brilliant and loyal provincial secretary. They were powerful people, the backbone of this "Holy Experiment" in the New World.
'But they don't know,' Reuben thought, a flicker of almost guilty pride passing through him. 'They see Penn's influence, their own collective wealth... but they have no idea about the real power in this room.'
He glanced at his own companions, then at the Kenways. 'If they knew that the family quietly chatting about the price of tobacco was the silent force behind the "Celestial" products now sweeping through the colonies, a business whose profits could likely buy and sell the entire Royal African Company... they would bow down.'
He pushed the thought away. 'That's a bad thought... bad, Reuben.'
Jonathan Hugh and Penn's own trusted butler, Sebastian, moved silently around the room, their movements synchronized and efficient as they served steaming cups of the now-famous Celestial Tea, the fragrant aroma filling the chamber.
The initial conversation was light, a polite dance of pleasantries. They spoke of the unusually mild autumn weather, the success of the recent harvest, the news from other colonies.
Bernard Kenway, ever the boisterous one, was in the middle of a story about a particularly stubborn mule on the farm, drawing polite chuckles from the assembled Quakers.
It was Isaac Norris, a man with a sharp mind for business and a face that rarely smiled, who finally cut through the gentle chatter.
"William," he said, his voice calm but direct, setting his teacup down with a soft click. "We are grateful for thy hospitality, and this tea is… remarkable. But thee did not summon us all from Philadelphia, from Germantown, even from New Jersey, to discuss the temperament of mules." He looked around at the other Quaker leaders, who nodded in agreement. "Why have thee gathered us here?"
A quiet settled over the room.
William Penn took a slow, deliberate sip from his own cup, his gaze sweeping over every face at the table. He set his cup down, the soft clink of porcelain on mahogany echoing in the sudden silence.
"Friends," he began, his voice was a low, steady sound that instantly commanded the room's full attention. "I have gathered you here because the time for quiet contemplation, for peaceful petition, is over. The very foundation of our Holy Experiment, the principles of peace and liberty upon which we built this colony, are under direct and imminent threat."
A murmur of concern went through the Quaker contingent.
"I speak, of course, of the Crown," Penn continued, his voice hardening. "I speak of King George, and the nest of vipers that now whispers in his ear in London. I speak of the Templar Order."
At the mention of the Templars, Matteo's head snapped up, his eyes locking onto Penn. Kassandra's expression remained neutral, but Alaric had told her enough for the name to carry weight.
"The agreement we forged with the late Queen Anne," Penn said, his voice ringing with a righteous anger, "an agreement to end the vile stain of slavery in Bristol, to foster prosperity through honest work, has been betrayed. The King has shown his true colors. He does not see us as subjects to be protected, but as assets to be controlled. He sees our peace as weakness, our principles as an obstacle to his greed."
Sarah Harrison, the elderly Quaker woman, looked aghast. "William, these are strong words! To speak of the King in such a manner… it is treasonous!"
"Is it treason to speak the truth, Sarah?" Penn countered, his voice rising with passion. "They sent an army to Bristol! Two thousand soldiers, not to keep the peace, but to crush the freedom we had fostered, to drag that city back into the darkness of the slave trade! They did this under the guise of hunting a single man, but their true purpose was to destroy everything we had built!"
His gaze was fiery now, his usual Quaker restraint burned away by righteous fury. "Do you think they will stop at Bristol? Do you think they will honor our charters, our treaties, our faith, when their greed is so insatiable? I tell you now, they will not! They will come for Pennsylvania next. They will come for our farms, for our trade, for our very way of life. They will bring their corruption, their chains, their war, to our doorstep."
The Quakers stared, shocked into silence by the force of his conviction. The Kenways nodded grimly; they had lived through the beginning of this betrayal.
"War, William?" Isaac Norris finally asked, his voice tight. "Thee speaks of war. That is not our way. We are a people of peace. We cannot raise arms against our King, against our countrymen."
"And I ask you, Isaac," Penn retorted, his voice dropping to a low, intense level. "What peace is there in allowing a tyrant to trample your rights? What peace is there in standing by while the chains are forged for your neighbors, and then for you? We have tried words. I have pleaded, petitioned, and reasoned with them in London. They answered with contempt. They answered with soldiers. To do nothing now is not peace; it is surrender. It is to offer our necks to the executioner and call it serenity."
A heavy, charged silence filled the room. The Quakers were clearly conflicted, their core beliefs clashing with the grim reality Penn was painting.
Kassandra chose this moment to speak, her voice calm and clear, cutting through the tension.
"Mr. Penn is correct," she said, her accent a strange, ancient melody in the quiet room.
"Strategically, the British Crown is a formidable power, but it is not invincible. Its attention is scattered across a global empire. Its supply lines to these colonies are long and vulnerable." Kassandra looked around the table, her gaze sharp and assessing. "An open war on their terms, on an open field, would be foolish. But this will not be a conventional war."
Matteo Auditore nodded, picking up the thread, his own voice a low rasp. "What we propose is not a rebellion in the traditional sense. It is… a targeted removal of a cancer. The Templar Order has its tendrils wrapped around the heart of the Crown. We, the Assassins," he acknowledged his affiliation openly for the first time to this group, "will be the scalpel. We will cut those tendrils. We will dismantle their power structure from within, sow chaos in their ranks, and remove the key figures who guide the King's hand."
Flavia spoke next, her voice clear and firm. "While we strike at the shadows, your trained militia will defend your homes. This is not a war of conquest; it is a war of defense, of preservation."
Now it was Thulani's turn. He did not rise, but his deep voice filled the room with an undeniable moral authority.
"The men who rule England now," he said slowly, his gaze sweeping over the faces of the Quaker leaders, "are the same men who profit from the buying and selling of human lives. They built their fortunes on the chains that bound my people. To stand against such men is not a violation of peace. It is the most profound affirmation of it. It is a declaration that no man has the right to own another."
His simple, powerful words hung in the air, a hammer blow to the core of the Quakers' pacifist ideals.
Reuben completed the unified front. "We have the means," he said, nodding towards the Kenways. "The wealth to fund this, to equip a force capable of defending this land. And," he glanced at Kassandra and Matteo, "we have the skill to train them, to lead them. We have everything we need to succeed."
William Penn stood up, placing his hands flat on the polished table, his eyes burning with a holy fire.
"Friends," he said, his voice ringing with a conviction that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room. "I have spent my life dedicated to a Holy Experiment, a haven for those seeking peace and freedom. But I see now that a garden cannot flourish if you do not pull the weeds. The Crown has become a weed, a choking, parasitic vine that threatens to strangle everything we have planted."
He looked at each of them, his gaze lingering on the troubled faces of his Quaker brethren.
"I will not ask you to betray your faith. I will ask you to defend it. To defend the peace we have built by standing against those who would replace it with the peace of the grave. We will unite the tribes, we will offer freedom to every enslaved soul who will take up arms with us, we will forge a new kind of army, an army of free people."
He took a deep breath.
"Today, we declare our own kind of independence. Not just of governance, but of conscience. We will fight. Will you stand with me?"
The room was utterly silent. The weight of the moment, the sheer, terrifying audacity of what Penn proposed, was immense.
Then, Isaac Norris, the pragmatist, the merchant, slowly stood up. He looked at Penn, at the Kenways, at the warriors and Assassins, and then he gave a single, slow, deliberate nod.
"God help us all," he said quietly. "But yes, William. We will stand with thee."
One by one, the other Quaker leaders rose to their feet, their faces filled with a mixture of fear, resolve, and the dawning light of a terrible, necessary purpose.
Penn smiled as he finally saw that a revolution had begun. 'Alaric, lad... you're one of a guy...'
---
Alaric was standing once more on the stone-paved bridge over the Nakashima River in Nagasaki, the Hiraishin marker he'd left there serving as his perfect anchor.
The night was quiet, the moon casting a soft, peaceful glow on the city. The hundreds of unconscious samurai he had left here hours ago were gone, likely having been carried away by their bewildered comrades or having woken up to stumble home in a haze of shame and confusion. The bridge was empty, as if the massive, one-sided brawl had never happened.
Alaric took a deep breath, the clean, salty air of the port city was a welcome change from the iron-tinged atmosphere of the Edo castle. He looked around, then leaped silently, landing gracefully atop the roof of the highest building near the bridge.
From this vantage point, he could see the whole of Nagasaki spread out below him. It was a city transformed.
He didn't need his Mind's Eye to feel it; the change was palpable in the very air. The underlying tension, the subtle aggression and greed that had poisoned the city under the Apple's lingering influence, was gone. The psychic stain had been scrubbed clean by his "Kai" release.
The city slept, but it was a different kind of sleep now. A peaceful, natural rest, free from the dark, artificial desires that had been forced upon its people. He could imagine the morning that would follow… the confusion, the self-reflection, the difficult questions the samurai and the bugyō would have to ask themselves. It would be a messy, complicated awakening, but it would be their own. They were free.
A genuine smile touched Alaric's lips. He thought of the beautiful tiered temples, the bustling markets, the tranquil rock gardens he had passed through.
'This place is very nice…' he thought, a sense of quiet satisfaction settling over him. 'I really should come here again with the fam... with Kassandra and our baby... and the rest of the Kenway clan.'
The image of his boisterous uncle Bernard trying to haggle with a stern Japanese merchant, or his mother Eleanor marveling at the intricate silk kimonos, brought another chuckle to his lips. It was a pleasant thought, a peaceful future to look forward to after all this chaos was settled.
But that was a thought for another time.
He stood up on the roof, the night wind gently rustling his crimson coat. He looked northwest, across the dark expanse of the Sea of Japan. His next destination lay in that direction.
Joseon. The Land of the Morning Calm.
He activated the flight seals on his arms, the faint shimmer of chakra invisible in the darkness. With a final, lingering look at the peaceful city of Nagasaki, he pushed off from the rooftop, rising silently into the night sky.
He ascended quickly, a dark shadow against the moon, until the city was just a small cluster of lights below. Then, he turned his body and shot forward, a crimson-streaked specter gliding effortlessly through the heavens, leaving the Hermit Kingdom of Japan behind as he raced towards the Korean peninsula, and the next, uncertain chapter of his hunt for Caroline.
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