"Looks like the homeowners have come out to greet us. About twenty of them."
The knights and soldiers drew their blades.
Spear shafts knocked together with dull, nervous clacks.
The sun was sinking.
Twilight stained the rocks a deep, smoldering red.
"You mean the Assassins? I can't see anything," one of them said.
"His Highness has never been wrong so far," Garnier said to Joscelin.
A tense silence settled over the group.
"Look there," I said, handing Garnier the spyglass. "By that round stone—near the brush."
"And there are more on both slopes," I added. "Assassins, most likely."
"…So there really are," Joscelin murmured.
Then he shouted, "Everyone—battle formation!"
I stared into the brush again.
You had to look carefully to notice them at all.
Without my sixth sense, I would've missed them completely.
Garnier called out in Arabic.
"Come out!"
Silence.
Joscelin and his knights raised their swords.
"Aig!"
Aig passed me the crossbow.
I aimed just beside the brush.
I squeezed the trigger—whiiing—and the bolt slammed into the ground near the hidden figures.
I felt it immediately: surprise, unease.
But not much hostility.
So they weren't here to ambush us.
There was no reason to kill a Jerusalem royal—not unless they wanted the entire region to descend on them in a punitive crusade.
And there'd be no profit in that.
If they tried it, the purge would start the next day.
Men emerged from the brush.
Hoods covered their faces.
They looked a lot like the ones from the game.
There were twenty… maybe thirty.
A standoff formed.
Both sides faced each other with swords and shields ready.
Aig stepped forward too, bow raised, arrow trained on them.
A man who seemed to be their leader approached and bowed.
"Prince Baldwin. We have been awaiting your arrival."
His accent was smooth—almost effortless.
I snorted.
"Hard to call it 'waiting' when you were hiding in a bush."
If we hadn't noticed, they would've let us come closer—then boxed us in from both sides, putting pressure on us before we could move.
"I've come to meet Rashid ad-Din Sinan," I said. "They call him the Old Man of the Mountain here, don't they?"
"The Elder has been waiting for you for days."
"Enough talking," Joscelin growled, like an angry lion. "Take us to your master."
"This man is not someone a worm like you gets to 'talk' with."
"…Understood. This way, please."
We followed the hooded men.
As the sun fell, the hills sank into darkness.
Some of our soldiers lit torches and took positions along the sides.
Garnier walked up beside me.
"You knew who their leader was?"
"The Old Man of the Mountain…?"
Joscelin cut in. "Literally. An old man who leads the Assassins. They say he performs miracles."
"They claim he appears in one fortress—then in another at the exact same time."
Garnier scoffed. "Typical Saracen fanatic nonsense."
Then he quoted scripture, voice sharp.
"False christs and false prophets will arise and perform signs and wonders to deceive many."
"The Gospel of Matthew," I said.
"The only true miracle I've ever witnessed," Garnier said, looking at me with eyes full of reverence, "was you, Prince Baldwin."
I cleared my throat and pretended not to hear.
This kind of worship was getting heavy.
We climbed—over hills, through mountain passes.
Before long, a fortress came into view.
Perched on a mountaintop overlooking a valley—
Masyaf.
One of dozens of Assassin fortresses, large and small.
A perfect lair for killers.
We passed through the gate and went inside.
Villagers glanced at us as we walked by.
At first glance, the place looked like any other settlement:
Guards on watch.
Residents heading home to sleep.
The only real difference was the stairs.
So many stairs.
These damned stairs never end.
My lungs burned quickly.
Weak body or not—this was brutal.
And then there was the other difference.
Guards.
Everywhere.
Two posted at every passageway, at minimum.
Even with my sixth sense alone, I could feel hundreds.
I'd never seen a fortress with security this tight.
Even in the game, taking an Assassin stronghold required several times the manpower.
Then a man brushed past us.
Ragged clothes.
At a glance, he looked like a simple livestock handler.
But something felt… off.
His face.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
If I wasn't mistaken—
Aig came up beside me, puzzled.
"What is it, my prince?"
"…Nothing," I said with a smile.
Let's see where this goes.
We went deeper, climbing more winding staircases.
"The Elder is in the inner audience chamber," our guide said. "The prince should enter alone."
"I am sworn to protect His Highness," Garnier replied. "Especially in a place surrounded by heathens."
"If you refuse, we will leave."
…
The hooded man glared at Garnier.
An awkward stillness stretched—until, finally, the guide spoke.
"Then you may come as well. Sir Garnier."
Joscelin and the others remained in the hall with Aig.
Only Garnier and I were taken deeper inside.
"We cannot go farther," the guide said, stopping at a door.
He recited a strange prayer, as if this were sacred ground.
I walked straight in.
The first thing I saw was an old man sitting alone.
Torchlight flickered, casting a trembling shadow.
The room appeared empty—just him.
But my sixth sense told me otherwise.
Oh, this is fun.
I barely managed to suppress a laugh.
Such a cheap trick.
So the Assassins weren't all that, after all.
"Welcome," the old man said, rising. "Prince Baldwin of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. We have been waiting."
He stared at me with blazing eyes.
"I am the Elder of this place—Rashid ad-Din Sinan. I have heard you received revelations from the Archangel Michael—"
…
When I didn't respond, his brow furrowed.
"Like you, I also hear the heavens. I sense a similar divinity within you."
Divinity?
I couldn't help the snort this time.
"Speak," he demanded. "Why does a Frankish royal travel so far to come here?"
"That's enough," I said, glaring at him.
"I'm not here to talk to a doll like you."
"A… doll?" His face flushed red. "You dare insult me? The Elder of this place?!"
His body shook with rage.
"No matter if you are Jerusalem royalty, this is the land of the Assassins! If you keep spewing such blasphemy—"
"My prince…" Garnier whispered, alarmed.
I lifted a hand to calm him.
"You still don't understand," I said. "So I'll say it again."
"Your little game ends here."
I stood—and stared at the wall behind the 'Elder.'
The old man flinched.
"How long do you plan to keep this up, Rashid ad-Din Sinan?"
Silence.
Then—
rrrk.
The wall slid aside.
A man stood behind it.
Gray hair.
Early to mid-fifties, by the look of him.
And eyes like sharpened steel.
Rashid ad-Din Sinan.
The real Old Man of the Mountain.
"As expected… you don't disappoint, Prince."
His voice was calm, almost amused.
"Welcome to Masyaf. I am Rashid ad-Din Sinan."
"To put a fake in front of His Highness—how dare you insult him like this!" Garnier snapped, face burning.
He moved to draw his sword, but I stopped him with an outstretched arm.
"I did not mean to humiliate you," Sinan said evenly. "Even those within these fortresses do not know that I am Sinan."
He turned his gaze to me.
Still expressionless—
But I could feel faint curiosity… and a hint of dismay.
So he hadn't expected this.
"How did you know I was behind the wall? Unless this one told you—"
"I-I didn't!" the fake old man flailed his hands, panicked.
His fear was suffocating.
"I only did what the commander told me to do!"
"I knew who you were the moment I saw you below in the fortress," I said, smiling.
Our eyes met—clashed.
"Or did you think my claim of receiving the Archangel's revelation was a lie?"
Sinan.
Master of the Assassins.
He might fool the masses—
But not me.
I'd seen his portrait too many times to count.
Disguised as a livestock keeper, watching us.
And the man hidden behind the wall—I could feel him.
There was only one conclusion.
"You stage different 'Elders' in every fortress," I said. "So it looks like you appear everywhere at once."
That explained the rumor Joscelin had heard.
Sinan scoffed.
"Even if you said such things, no believer would accept them. No faithful man listens to the words of a Frank."
"By your standards, I'm a holy imam too," I said, "since I perform 'miracles.'"
"How dare you—"
His face tightened.
"Do not mistake demonic power for that of the heavens."
I smiled faintly.
This Nizari sect revolved around an imam believed to possess divine authority.
Islamic mysticism, elevated into governance.
"I didn't come all this way to fight you," I said.
If anything, it was the opposite.
"You Franks want something," Sinan said, folding his arms.
"You gathered supplies in Cyprus, then moved them to Tripoli. There is only one destination for such a stockpile."
He stared straight at me.
"You intend to deliver those supplies to Masud. You want to use us as couriers."
…
I answered with a thin smile.
"When you ask for something, you should offer something in return," he continued.
"Or did you think I would kneel and obey your command?"
"This insolent Saracen—" Garnier hissed.
"We already know you pay tribute to the Knights Templar each year, and you dare—"
"We pay them tribute only as a concession for peace," Sinan cut in with another scoff.
"Even if they came in heavy armor with horses, they could not take our fortresses."
"We could crush you," Garnier spat. "You're cowards who know only assassination."
"Our fida'i," Sinan said, brow furrowing, "are self-sacrificing martyrs. Their assassinations are acts of courage and sacred devotion."
Then his voice sharpened.
"You preach your Lord's peace—yet you massacred innocent Muslims, roasted children's flesh and bones, and ate them."
He raised his arm as if pointing to a text.
"A Frankish historian recorded the horrors of Ma'arra. He wrote that you devoured Turks and Saracens—ate even dogs!"
…
"Our warriors place the dagger in a guilty man's throat," Sinan continued, voice cold. "We do not kill the innocent. And we do not grovel for life."
He sneered.
"And I've heard there are not a few Frankish knights, captured alive, who converted to Islam."
"That's enough—" Garnier began.
I stopped him again with my hand.
Strictly speaking… Sinan wasn't wrong about some of it.
Their methods weren't the same as modern terror attacks.
But that didn't make them noble.
They were simply a minority sect choosing a rational strategy.
They still expanded their influence.
They still killed.
They still brainwashed children into becoming assassins.
None of that was "sacred."
"You seem to know what we want," I said. "But I also know what you want."
Who did the Assassins fear most?
The Crusaders?
If anything, the Crusaders had spared them at times.
No.
Their true enemy was Sunni Islam—the mainstream.
And Saladin was Sunni too, loyal to the Abbasid caliph in Baghdad.
With Saladin marching north, these people had to be sweating.
If you know what someone fears, you can use it.
"Even if Aleppo falls to Saladin," I said, "the Crusader states won't collapse overnight."
"We'll be pressured—yes—but we'll still have chances."
I met his gaze head-on.
"But can you say the same?"
"A unified Sunni dynasty," I continued, "is a far greater threat to the Assassins than anything else."
Sinan himself had said he'd been waiting for me for days.
That alone meant they were anxious.
"So," I said with a slight smile, "since you're so curious—here is what you'll receive if you transport our supplies."
"The goodwill of Jerusalem. And mine."
"Goodwill?" Sinan laughed like I'd said something ridiculous.
"You would have us take on that risk… for goodwill?"
"If you refuse," I said, "I'll mobilize every military order in the region and move the supplies myself."
"And while we're at it… we might seize a few of your fortresses."
I kept my voice calm.
"If we held them, Aleppo's fall wouldn't hurt us nearly as much."
"If you do that," Sinan said, "then with Saladin at the gates, both of us weaken."
"Two sheep fighting while the lion watches."
He narrowed his eyes.
"Empty threats."
"So you admit Saladin is a common enemy," I said.
"And if you truly are an imam who can read hearts…"
I held his gaze.
Everything I'd described was the Assassins' worst-case scenario.
"You'll know I mean every word."
"And Jerusalem's goodwill is not insignificant."
I continued, voice steady.
"We could permit the preaching of your sect within the Kingdom of Jerusalem."
"You would be protected from Sunni mobs and vigilantes."
Jerusalem already ruled over Muslim subjects—much as Muslim rulers governed Jews and Christians.
…
Sinan fell silent.
I could feel it—he was shaken.
"Stay in the fortress tonight," he said at last. "My men will treat you with sincerity."
"My answer will—"
"I don't have the luxury of playing along with your theater," I cut in.
"Answer me now."
I stared him down.
"Either we join hands… or we fight while Saladin stands in front of us."