System in Assassin's Creed

Chapter 95: Chapter 94: ”Va bene, Maestro...”

[Current Balance: 374,963,763 scudi, 5 baiocchi]

---

Alaric hummed as the impressive Tuscan villa finally came into full view, there were lots of lanterns and the interior was certainly lit. It was larger and perhaps even more ’fortified’ than he remembered from the Assassin’s Creed: Embers short film. Generations of Auditore Assassins had clearly maintained and expanded upon Ezio’s legacy here.

As they approached the main gate, Alaric casually remarked, ”There are at least fifty people within these walls, some awake and most of them are asleep... are they all your family, Maestro? Quite the gathering.”

Everyone, including the Assassins escorting them, stopped abruptly. Flavia and Reuben looked surprised, but Matteo and the other Assassins stared at Alaric with wide, shocked eyes.

”H-How did you...” Matteo stammered, losing his stern composure for a moment.

”Ah... sorry about that. Guess that startled you.” Alaric scratched the back of his head nonchalantly, then shrugged a perfect excuse. ”It’s my Eagle Vision... don’t you have it too?”

Matteo stared intently at Alaric for a long moment, his expression shifting from shock to understanding, then to a kind of calculating respect. ”So,” he said slowly, ”you do have the Vision... it’s different than min, but it’s the vision no less... you truly are one of us. An Assassino.”

Alaric and Reuben exchanged a look, both raising their eyebrows slightly. ”Nah,” Alaric replied easily. ”Not an Assassino.”

Matteo frowned slightly. ”Not yet, perhaps,” he conceded. ”But it is your destiny, boy. Everyone who possesses the ”Eyes” eventually sees the world for what it truly is, understands the necessity of our Creed.”

Alaric didn’t reply, merely offering a noncommittal smile as Matteo signaled for the gate to be opened.

’Not true,’ Alaric thought as they walked through the heavy wooden gates into a torchlit courtyard. ’Being an Assassin or a Templar isn’t just about the Eyes. It begins from one’s values, their experiences... or sometimes, just who influences them.’

His mind briefly flashed to the characters from the game. ’Think of Shay Cormac... or Edward’s future son, Haytham, for example. They both had the Eagle Vision, but they ended up Templars.’

He watched Matteo lead them towards the main villa entrance. ’I definitely can’t let Haytham become a Templar... but I also admit, I’d like to see Connor Kenway eventually. Imagine, Haytham and Connor, both alive, and Edward too, maybe even... no, probably not getting along.’ He chuckled inwardly. ’That’d be honestly interesting to see.’

Later that night, the main living area of the Auditore Villa was filled with the unexpected aroma of grilled meat.

[Akimichi Barbecue - 10 baiocchi.]

[Total Deduction: (18x) - 1 scudo, 80 baiocchi.]

[Current Balance: 374,963,761 scudi, 25 baiocchi]

Why did Alaric buy eighteen servings of Akimichi Barbecue from the System?

Well, upon entering the villa, they’d found eighteen Assassins awake and alert, clearly roused by the commotion at the gate or Matteo’s return with strangers.

The kitchens were dark, no one was cooking at this late, and the atmosphere was tense. So, Alaric, ever the pragmatist, and perhaps wanting to smooth things over, decided to ”bribe their hearts” with food. He’d simply yet secretly materialized skewers of perfectly cooked, savory barbecue for everyone present.

No one even questioned a damn thing.

’What was that saying again... the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?’ Alaric thought, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of tender meat while observing the scene. Assassins, initially wary, were now gathered around the large living room, sitting on couches, chairs, or the floor, hungrily devouring the unexpected late-night meal. The tension had certainly eased. ’Heh...’.

Matteo Auditore, having finished his own skewer, sat across from Alaric on a plush sofa, legs crossed, his stern demeanor returned now that the initial shock had worn off.

Flavia sat beside Reuben on another couch, occasionally leaning against his shoulder.

”So,” Matteo began, wiping his mouth with a napkin, his sharp eyes fixed on Alaric. ”Flavia has explained the... unusual circumstances of your meeting, and your subsequent journey.”

”But the events at the Basilica... she mentioned strange mechanisms, hidden passages... and your uncanny knowledge of them. How did it... exactly happen?”

Flavia shifted slightly, picking up the story. She recounted their arrival at the Basilica, Alaric’s insistence on entering despite it being closed, and his seemingly inexplicable knowledge of the levers and mechanisms.

She described the descent into the underground Vault, the strange pedestal, and her recognition of Ezio’s silhouette, carefully omitting the more unbelievable parts like the instant bridge or the vanishing Apple. ”...But how Alaric knew where the levers were, or the password for the final door... I cannot explain,” she finished, shaking her head slightly. ”It was... odd. He seemed to know the place.”

Alaric listened patiently, finishing his barbecue skewer. He tossed the empty stick onto a nearby plate.

”Like I said,” he replied nonchalantly, meeting Matteo’s intense gaze, ”I had my doubts about the place. Call it intuition, a hunch. Seemed like the kind of location that might hold secrets.”

Matteo studied Alaric for a long moment, clearly not entirely satisfied with the vague answer but perhaps sensing he wouldn’t get more.

”I see,” he said slowly. ”You do not trust us fully yet. That is... understandable, given the circumstances, and perhaps your own secrets.”

He leaned forward slightly. ”But know this, Alaric Kenway, Reuben. My daughter seems to hold you both in high regard, and you possess knowledge related to my ancestor, Ezio, and the secrets he guarded. The Vault you entered... it is a place of great significance to our Brotherhood. We are hopeful that, in time, trust can be built. We wish to understand what Ezio discovered, what legacy he truly left behind.”

Seeing that everyone was silent for a while, Matteo sighed and turned his head to one of the assassins nearby. ”Guide our guests to our spare bedrooms.”

’Finally... I’ve been sleepy for a while,’ Alaric thought as he and Reuben got up.

As they walked to follow the Assassin ordered by Matteo, Alaric’s sharp ears overheard Flavia’s conversation with Matteo.

”So... how did it go with your cousin?”

”We were successful... and here...”

”Hm? A letter... and money?”

”Si... three hundred scudi, that’ll be enough for this month’s budget.”

---

The night finally passed as dawn was breaking, casting long shadows across the villa’s central courtyard, though the air was still cool and thick with fog.

Reuben stood facing Matteo Auditore, both men were shirtless despite the chill, their breath misting in the air. Several other Assassins stood watching from the edges of the courtyard.

”To earn my rispetto, and my blessing to court my daughter,” Matteo declared, his voice stern, eyes fixed on Reuben, ”you will defeat me. First, in hand-to-hand combat. Then, with spada.” He cracked his knuckles. ”I will not have Flavia marry someone who cannot protect her, or himself.”

Reuben nodded, settling into a relaxed but ready stance. ”I understand, Maestro.”

One of the watching Assassins stepped forward slightly. ”I will be the giudice,” he announced. He raised his hand high. ”When my hand drops... begin when you are ready.”

Matteo and Reuben nodded as their eyes locked. Neither man moved immediately as the referee’s hand fell. They circled each other slowly on the damp flagstones, assessing.

Up on the villa roof, perched comfortably on the terracotta tiles, Alaric watched the proceedings below with mild interest, stifling a yawn. ’They’re really doing this?’ he thought. ’I’m hungry...’.

Matteo made the first move, feinting with a quick jab before exploding forward with a combination of strikes aimed at Reuben’s head and body. Reuben flowed backwards, easily evading the blows, his movements were fluid and efficient as always. He parried a hook with an open palm, redirecting Matteo’s momentum, but didn’t counter-attack, maintaining a respectful distance.

”You are quick, ragazzo,” Matteo grunted, pressing the attack. ”But speed is useless without power! You must commit!” He threw a powerful right cross. Reuben slipped under it, tapping Matteo’s extended arm lightly to throw off his balance, again refraining from landing a solid blow.

They exchanged blows for several minutes, a dance of feints, blocks, and evasions. It was clear to Alaric, and likely becoming clear to Matteo as well, that Reuben possessed superior speed and strength.

He moved with an efficiency that spoke of years of intense training under Alaric, easily neutralizing Matteo’s aggressive, experienced attacks. Yet, Reuben seemed content to simply defend and evade, never landing a decisive hit, never using the full extent of his enhanced abilities. He was deliberately holding back, trying not to embarrass the Maestro in front of his students.

”You fight like you are afraid to break me, boy!” Matteo growled, landing a solid kick to Reuben’s thigh that Reuben absorbed without flinching. ”Is this how you protect my daughter? With half-measures?”

Reuben didn’t reply, simply parrying another series of blows.

’Matteo’s certainly good,’ Alaric observed from the roof, munching on a piece of dried fruit he’d pulled from the table on the dining room a while ago. ’Experienced, skilled, strong for a normal man... too bad Reuben’s on fucking steroids, comparatively speaking.’

Frustrated by Reuben’s passive defense, Matteo suddenly ducked low, scooped up a handful of loose dirt and gravel from the edge of the courtyard, and flung it directly at Reuben’s face.

Reuben reacted instantly, turning his head and shielding his eyes with his forearm, the grit pattering harmlessly against his skin. He looked back at Matteo, raising an eyebrow. ”Really? Sand?”

”There are no rules in a real fight, boy!” Matteo snapped back, using Reuben’s momentary distraction to lunge in with a knee strike. Reuben easily sidestepped it. ”Only survival! You fight too cleanly! Too... polite!”

They continued the hand-to-hand spar, Reuben easily deflecting and evading, Matteo growing increasingly frustrated, his taunts becoming sharper. Finally, after Reuben effortlessly redirected another powerful blow, causing Matteo to stumble, the Maestro stepped back, breathing heavily.

”Enough!” Matteo declared. ”Fists are not enough. Let us see how you handle steel!” He nodded to the referee, who brought forward two identical, standard practice swords. Simple, sturdy blades, not the fine weapons Assassins might carry on missions.

They took the swords, saluted briefly, and engaged again.

The clang of steel now replaced the thud of fists. Reuben’s movements remained fluid and defensive. He parried Matteo’s thrusts, blocked his slashes, occasionally disengaged with a quick sidestep, but rarely initiated an attack himself.

When he did riposte, it was controlled, aimed to disarm or create distance, never to wound. He was clearly faster, his blade was a blur, but he consistently pulled back from landing any telling blow, making the fight look closer than it truly was.

Matteo pressed harder, his frustration evident. He was a skilled swordsman, aggressive and experienced, but Reuben matched him effortlessly, his defense was impeccable.

It became obvious Reuben was not fighting to win, but simply to endure, to show respect by not overwhelming his opponent.

After several more minutes of this uneven exchange, Matteo suddenly disengaged, lowering his sword point, his chest heaving, face flushed with anger.

”Stop this!” he demanded, glaring at Reuben. ”Stop holding back! Do you mock me, boy? Do you think this is a game? Fight me! Fight me seriously, or you are not worthy of her!”

Reuben froze, lowering his own sword, looking genuinely taken aback. He saw the real anger in Matteo’s eyes, the offense taken not at being potentially beaten, but at being patronized.

He realized his attempt at respect was having the opposite effect... it was insulting.

He looked at the Maestro, then glanced up briefly towards the roof where he knew Alaric was watching. He took a deep breath, his grip tightening on his sword hilt. The relaxed, defensive posture vanished, replaced by sharp focus and cold eyes. He nodded slowly at Matteo.

”Va bene, Maestro...”

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