System in Assassin's Creed

Chapter 96: Chapter 95: Stop. Stop. Stop.

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---Previously---

Reuben 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...”

---Now---

The shift in Reuben’s demeanor was immediate and noticeable. The air around him seemed to sharpen. He raised his practice sword again, not defensively, but offensively, the point aimed steadily at Matteo.

Matteo, seeing the change, let out a grim smile. ”Finally!” he growled and lunged forward, blade flashing in a complex series of thrusts aimed at Reuben’s chest and face.

This time, Reuben didn’t just parry... he met the attack head-on. His sword moved with blinding speed, deflecting Matteo’s blade with sharp, precise movements.

Clang! Clang! Clink!

Sparks flew as steel met steel. Reuben flowed around Matteo’s attack, his footwork suddenly more aggressive, forcing the Maestro onto the defensive.

Matteo widened his eyes, surprised by the sudden intensity. He tried a powerful downward slash, putting his weight behind it. Reuben didn’t block; instead, he sidestepped fractionally, letting the blade whistle past, and simultaneously delivered a lightning-fast riposte. The tip of Reuben’s practice sword stopped perfectly, exactly one centimeter from the pulse point on Matteo’s neck.

Matteo froze, feeling the cold steel kiss his skin. He stared into Reuben’s now cold, brown eyes. He pushed back, disengaging, breathing heavily. ”Again!”

He attacked again, a flurry of different angles, testing Reuben’s defense. Each time, Reuben met the attack, deflected it, and countered with impossible speed, his blade ending up precisely positioned... a centimeter from Matteo’s eye, then his chest, then his throat again.

It wasn’t about brute force; it was about absolute control and superior speed, predicting Matteo’s moves before they were even completed.

Clang! Stop.

Thrust! Parry! Stop.

Feint! Slash! Deflect! Stop.

Again and again, Reuben’s blade found its mark, hovering just shy of landing a decisive blow. Matteo felt a cold sweat break out on his brow, not just from exertion, but from disbelief. He was the Maestro Assasino, a veteran of countless battles, yet this young man was toying with him, demonstrating absolute superiority without inflicting injury.

The watching Assassins murmured amongst themselves, their expressions mirroring Matteo’s shock. They had sparred with their Mentor countless times; some could occasionally catch him off guard, yes, but this? This level of effortless dominance was unheard of.

Reuben’s sword seemed to possess a life of its own, always finding the perfect opening, always stopping just short with chilling precision.

Matteo disengaged again, panting, staring at Reuben with a mixture of frustration and grudging respect. ”This...” he managed, his voice strained. ”Is this... is this your full power, Reuben?”

Reuben lowered his sword slightly, his expression unreadable. ”No,” he replied calmly. ”Strike me again, Maestro. And I will show you.”

Matteo took a few steps back, gathering himself. He breathed deeply, focusing all his strength and experience into one final, desperate attack. With a roar, he lunged forward, pouring everything into a powerful diagonal slash aimed to cleave Reuben in two.

Reuben watched the attack come, his cold brown eyes tracking the blade’s trajectory, utterly calm, waiting until the very last second.

Alaric, watching from the roof, chuckled softly. ’Ahh... I see what you’re going to do...’

Then, Reuben moved. It wasn’t a block or a parry. His own sword flashed upwards in a blur, meeting Matteo’s descending blade not flat-to-flat, but edge-to-edge with impossible precision and force.

*SHINK!*

A clean, high-pitched ringing sound cut through the morning air. Matteo stared in stunned disbelief as the top half of his practice sword simply... fell off, landing with a clatter on the flagstones, sliced perfectly in two. Reuben stood calmly, his own sword held steady, the tip pointing towards the sky.

Silence descended upon the courtyard. The Assassins stared with their mouths agape. Matteo looked down at the useless hilt and half-blade remaining in his hand, then back up at Reuben, utterly speechless.

”Finally...” Alaric muttered from the rooftop, clearly satisfied with the outcome. He pushed himself up from his seated position and, with a graceful leap, landed silently on the edge of the courtyard near the stunned Assassins, startling them.

Matteo finally found his voice, lowering the broken hilt, his gaze shifting from Reuben to the newly arrived Alaric. ”And... and your friend?” he asked Reuben, his voice hoarse with disbelief. ”Alaric... is he strong too?”

Reuben turned his head, looking at Alaric who stood towering over the other Assassins, an unreadable expression on his face. Reuben sighed deeply, a long, weary sound. He turned back to Matteo. ”Maestro,” he said quietly, ”ever since I was a child, training alongside him... I have never once landed a clean hit on that man.”

Matteo’s eyes widened again, but he pressed, ”And now? After all your training? Your strength?”

Reuben looked back at Alaric again, then met Matteo’s gaze squarely. ”He killed two hundred men back in Bristol on his own,” he stated flatly. ”He wiped out an entire frigate crew single-handedly just days ago. He may be my friend and mentor... but he is frustratingly, and impossibly strong.” Reuben shook his head slightly.

”I am confident in saying that none of us here,” he gestured to include himself, Matteo, and all the watching Assassins, ”could land a single hit on him... maybe.”

Everyone heard this.

The Assassins turned as one, staring at Alaric with wide eyes, a mixture of awe, disbelief, and perhaps a little fear dawning on their faces. However, despite this, there’re still doubts that were planted in their minds.

Alaric just offered a lazy grin, meeting their stares. ”Heh... you’re amazing with flatteries, Reuben.”

Matteo, the mentor, the Maestro Assassino, stared at Alaric, then back at the effortlessly sliced practice sword, then at Reuben’s calm demeanor. He muttered, mostly to himself, ”That’s... impossible...”

Reuben stayed silent for a moment, letting the weight of his words hang in the air. Then, a challenging glint entered his eyes as he looked back at Alaric. ”You wanna try?”

Alaric feigned surprise. ”Hold on a minute... I never said I was going to fight?”

”It’s only a spar,” Reuben replied simply, a slight smirk playing on his lips now.

Alaric looked around at the gathered Assassins, all watching him intently. ”...With whom?”

Reuben’s grin widened. ”Against all of us.” He gestured to include Matteo, himself, and at least fifty Assassins surrounding them.

Alaric’s eyes widened in mock disbelief. ”All of you? Against me? Are you crazy? You think I can defeat all of you?”

Reuben scoffed. ”Stop acting, ’Laric. We both know you can. Besides,” he added, his tone becoming more serious, ”it’s been a while since I last truly sparred with you.”

Alaric sighed dramatically. ”Alright, fine. Then let’s spar, just you and me. Don’t try to bring more people into this.”

”Why?” Reuben countered immediately. ”Aren’t you bored fighting weaklings all the time? Isn’t this more interesting?”

Alaric paused, genuinely considering it. He looked around the courtyard. He saw the doubt in some of the Assassins’ eyes, but also a burning curiosity, a desire to test themselves, to witness the power Reuben described.

He saw the intense focus in Matteo’s gaze, the Maestro clearly wanting to gauge Alaric’s abilities himself. He saw the eager anticipation on Flavia’s face as she emerged from the villa entrance. A slow chuckle escaped Alaric’s lips.

He walked forward into the center of the courtyard, looking directly at Matteo. ”Well... it seems Reuben has instigated something interesting.”

Matteo nodded slowly, his eyes sharp. ”...I confess, I am curious as well.”

”Alright,” Alaric conceded, looking around at the assembled Assassins. ”But don’t you guys have missions to attend? Training schedules?”

”No,” Matteo replied curtly. ”Everyone is free until next week. Consider this... advanced training.”

”Haaa... okay fine, ”Alaric let out another long-suffering sigh. He cracked his neck, as a predatory glint entered his eyes. ”But don’t blame me if all of you go flying around.”

A ripple of anticipation went through the crowd. Assassins subtly shifted their stances, drawing their practice swords or checking their hidden blades. Reuben grinned, hefting his own practice sword. Matteo nodded towards the referee, who retrieved another practice sword for the Maestro. They began to slowly encircle Alaric.

Just then, Flavia hurried forward with her arms full.

”Wait!” she called out. She carried Reuben’s actual Sword of Damokles and his sheathed dagger, along with a beautifully crafted, clearly master-work sword that must have been Matteo’s personal blade.

She tossed the weapons expertly to their respective owners. Reuben caught his sword and dagger, nodding his thanks. Matteo caught his own sword, looking surprised but pleased.

”I cannot not join the fun!” Flavia declared, drawing her own dagger and hidden blade, a determined grin on her face as she took a position beside Reuben.

Alaric looked around at the circle of roughly fifty highly trained Assassins, plus a determined Maestro, his own powerful friend, and the Maestro’s skilled daughter, all preparing to attack him simultaneously. He muttered under his breath, ”Why can’t I just enjoy sightseeing for once?”

Reuben and Matteo quickly secured their proper weapons. The circle tightened.

Alaric let his carefree facade drop completely, replaced by a confident, almost challenging smirk. He met the eyes of those closest to him.

”Again,” he said, his voice calm but carrying a clear warning. ”Don’t blame me if you guys go flying.”

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