System in Assassin's Creed

Chapter 278: Chapter 277: The First Word

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---Philadelphia - The Royal Avenue---

The afternoon sun bathed the city of Philadelphia. It was a city of red brick and white stone, of industry and ideology woven together into a tapestry of thriving civilization.

Alaric sat inside the carriage, his crimson coat spread over the plush velvet seat. He held a lit cigar between his fingers, the smoke drifting lazily out of the open window to mingle with the city’s scent of fresh bread, sawdust, and the salt of the Delaware River.

He had refused riding the carriage at first. Flying was faster. Teleportation was instant. But William Penn, in his infinite and annoying wisdom, had insisted.

”You built this city to what it is today, Alaric,” Penn had said, adjusting his crown. ”But you rarely see it. Not from the ground. Walk among them, or at least ride among them. See what your gold and wood have wrought.”

So, here he was. Stuck in traffic.

Alaric took a drag, exhaling a sigh that was half-annoyance, half-contentment.

’I forgot how it felt to ride a carriage, it’s strange,’ Alaric wondered, watching a merchant cart struggle with a loose wheel ahead of them. ’Stuck in a wooden box, waiting for the world to move? It’s... grounding, I suppose. Tedious, but grounding.’

He looked out the window. The streets were immaculately clean. Unlike the grime of London or the dust of the frontier, Philadelphia sparkled. The sewage systems he had designed for the city planners of the city were working perfectly. The people walked with a spring in their step... men tipping hats, women laughing near the market stalls. There was a palpable lack of misery here.

’Penn sure did put some money on cleanliness,’ Alaric mused, tapping ash onto the floorboards. ’A clean city is a happy city. And a happy city pays taxes.’

His gaze landed on a pile of wooden crates being broken down behind a shop. Waste.

A thought sparked in his mind.

’Wait... trash will sooner or later pile up. Even with recycling, waste is the shadow of consumption.’

He narrowed his eyes, his mind shifting from merchant to seal master.

’I wouldn’t want people burning trash. The smog would ruin the aesthetic, and I don’t need to explain the ozone layer to the 17th century.’

He took another long drag, the gears turning.

’I could create a storage seal. Not a standard scroll, but a spatial anchor. An unlimited pit that stores inanimate matter in a stasis void. Then... have the family create a recycling center. A store that buys trash... specifically recyclable materials and waste from Celestial products... for a few cents a pound.’

A grin spread across his face.

’People are greedy. If trash has value, they won’t throw it in the river. They’ll hoard it and sell it back to me. I keep the streets clean, I get to sell the trash items to the system, and the people get pocket change. It’s a closed loop.’

’I’m such a genius,’ Alaric thought, grinning at his reflection in the glass. Then he shook his head, erasing the expression. ’Okay, stop. You look like a villain plotting world domination. Which... isn’t entirely inaccurate.’

The carriage lurched forward, then stopped again.

They were passing a large, red-brick building with tall windows. The Pennmere Public School.

Alaric looked through the glass. Inside, he could see rows of children sitting at desks, listening raptly to a teacher pointing at a chalkboard. Education. Free and mandatory. Another one of Penn’s radical ideas that Alaric had bankrolled.

Alaric’s eyes shifted upward. To a normal observer, the roof was empty.

But Alaric saw him.

A Vanguard soldier, dressed in the dark grey uniform of the urban division, was sitting casually against the chimney. He was munching on an apple, completely relaxed, watching the street with hawk-like intensity. In the entirety of Pennmere, Alaric already made it where Vanguard soldiers were guarding states from Massachusets all the way to South Carolina.

’Good,’ Alaric noted. While the vanguard soldier that was on top of the school looked too relaxed, the soldier was observing the perimiter he was stationed at. ’They’re doing their jobs properly.’

Twenty minutes passed. The novelty of the carriage ride was wearing thin. The swaying motion was starting to make him sleepy.

’Next time, I’m teleporting,’ Alaric decided. ’Penn can admire the view for me.’

---The Kenway Mansion - Main Gate---

Another twenty minutes later, the carriage finally slowed, the iron wheels crunching on the gravel of the Kenway estate’s driveway.

The mansion was just ahead, a masterpiece of architecture that blended power with elegance.

At the main gate, a Vanguard soldier stood guard. He held a halberd, his posture rigid. He raised a hand as the carriage approached.

”Halt,” the gatekeeper commanded. ”State your purpose for visiting this area.”

The coachman, a kindly old man in the royal livery, smiled politely and pulled back on the reins.

”I am one of His Majesty the King’s coachmen,” he announced, his voice steady. ”I have come here to convey Lord Alaric Jonathan Kenway to the Kenway Mansion.”

”Huh?” The gatekeeper furrowed his brows.

He knew Alaric. Everyone in Vanguard knew the Commander and Leader of Vanguard. But Alaric rarely took carriages. He usually just appeared in the dining room or dropped from the sky.

’That’s weird,’ the guard thought.

He walked up to the carriage window and peered inside.

The glass lowered. Alaric sat there, blowing a stream of smoke into the guard’s face.

”Afternoon, soldier.”

”Ah!” The gatekeeper straightened instantly, snapping a salute. ”Good afternoon, Lord Kenway! Apologies, I didn’t expect... well, wheels.”

”Neither did I,” Alaric chuckled. ”It’s fine, please open the gates. You’re clear to go.”

The gatekeeper turned and signaled the gatehouse. The heavy iron gates swung open with a groan of metal.

The carriage rolled through, winding up the path until it stopped at the base of the grand staircase.

The coachman set the brake and wrapped the reins neatly around the holder. He stood up, preparing to climb down and open the door for the Lord.

Click.

The door swung open from the inside.

Alaric stepped out, his boots hitting the gravel. He stretched his arms, hearing his back crack.

The coachman froze halfway down his step, stunned. A noble opening his own door? Unheard of.

”Don’t worry ’bout it,” Alaric said, seeing the man’s confusion. He adjusted his coat. ”You don’t have to do things like opening doors when it comes to me. I have working hands.”

The coachman stood on the gravel, uncertain. He wasn’t sure if he was meant to bow, or if standing stiff and silent was the safer choice. His uncertainty froze him in place.

Then Alaric flicked his thumb.

Ping.

A single coin tumbled through the air, catching the sunlight.

The coachman caught it on instinct. His hand dipped slightly; the weight was surprising. It was heavier than gold should be. He frowned, lowering his gaze to his palm.

It wasn’t like any currency he had ever handled. Not a Pound, not a Reale, not a Louis d’Or. It wasn’t even the cents from the Pennmerian Dollar currency.

The coin was solid gold, its edge finely beaded. On the face was a bird... a phoenix... rising from flames, its wings spread wide in a gesture of absolute freedom. The feathers were rendered in exquisite detail, sharp and layered.

Above the creature, words were stamped in a foreign script: ΟΥΡΑΝΙΑ ΤΡΑΠΕΖΑ.

Celestial Bank.

He turned the coin over.

The reverse bore a looping symbol... an infinity sign entwined with a laurel wreath. Another foreign script could be read: ΑΘΑΝΑΤΟΣ ΦΟΙΝΙΞ

Celestial Bank.

However, the coachman didn’t know how to read this foreign texts so he looked at the coin as a whole.

”It’s a Token from the Celestial Bank,” Alaric explained, a knowing smile on his lips. ”Limited edition. Go to the bank when you have the time and turn it over to the teller. Consider it thanks for the smooth ride.”

The coachman looked up, his eyes wide. He hesitated, then bowed deeply, clutching the coin like a talisman.

”Thank you, Lord Kenway... I will never forget your grace.”

”Yeah-yeah,” Alaric chuckled, waving a hand as he turned away. ”Buy something nice for your grandkids.”

He watched the coachman climb back onto the seat, flick the reins, and guide the horses away.

Alaric didn’t head for the front door.

He looked up as he rose into the air, gravity releasing its hold on him. He drifted upward, silent as a ghost, until he hovered just outside the balustrade of a balcony of a certain part of the Mansion.

On the balcony, Kassandra was standing in the sunlight, holding little Charles Hunter Kenway.

She looked radiant, her warrior’s edge softened by motherhood, though Alaric knew she could still break a man in half with one hand. She wore a simple white Empire silhouette dress.

She noticed the shadow falling over them. She looked up and smiled, her face lighting up.

”Oh, look at papa!” Kassandra cooed, pointing toward the railing. ”He’s flying! Like a bird!”

Little Hunter turned his head. His light blue eyes widened as he saw the floating figure. He waved his chubby fists.

”Mmmm!”

Alaric floated closer, landing softly on the stone tiles of the balcony. He was grinning like a fool.

”Aaah...” Hunter reached out, happy to see the giant red blob that usually gave him snacks.

Seeing his son’s cuteness, Alaric couldn’t help himself. He covered his face with his large hands, leaning in close.

”Peek-a-boo!”

He uncovered his face, making a silly expression.

Hunter blinked. Then, a gummy smile spread across his face. He giggled, a pure sound of joy.

”Da-da!”

That’s when the world stopped.

Silence descended on the balcony, heavier than any gravity seal.

Alaric froze.

Kassandra froze.

They stared at the baby.

Alaric had experienced the power-ups the system gave him. He had performed feats that defied physics. He had captured a Sannin, fought two Hokages to a standstill, and reshaped the landscape of a nation.

Kassandra had lived a life of myth. She had wielded Isu artifacts, fought mythical beasts, and watched civilizations rise and fall. She had jumped from mountains and survived.

Nothing could surprise them. They were the apex.

But this?

”Did he...” Alaric whispered, his voice trembling.

”He did,” Kassandra breathed, her eyes wide.

”Da-da!” Hunter repeated, clapping his hands, delighted by the reaction.

Shock gave way to euphoria.

Alaric’s smile stretched ear to ear. It wasn’t just happy; it was triumphant. It was the smile of a man who had just conquered the world.

He looked at Kassandra.

”He said Dada,” Alaric gloated. ”First word. Dada. I win.”

Kassandra’s shock melted into a playful scowl. She rolled her eyes, though she was smiling too. ”Yeah-yeah, you win... you happy? I carried him for nine months, and he names the one who disappears for a week.”

”Happy? Oh come on, dear,” Alaric shrugged, puffing out his chest. ”I am VERY happy!”

Before Kassandra could retort, Alaric cancelled the flight seal on his forearm. He stepped into her personal space, blocking her free hand from delivering a pinch to his side.

”Hey, watch that hand, Misthios,” Alaric teased, catching her wrist gently. ”Who hired you to pinch me?”

Kassandra tried to maintain her glare, but she couldn’t hold it. She laughed, a rich, hearty sound that warmed Alaric’s soul.

Taking this as a sign of surrender, Alaric smiled warmly. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her and the baby closer. He reached out, stroking Hunter’s soft cheek with his thumb.

”Come on, say it again my baby...” Alaric cooed, his voice dropping to a gentle whisper. ”Come on... Da-da...”

”Da-da!”

”Attaboy.”

The legendary Misthios and the anomaly of two worlds stood there on the balcony, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, enjoying the simple, profound thrill of being parents. Below them, Philadelphia was lively, unaware that its silent rulers were currently celebrating the greatest victory of their lives.

High above the mansion, far beyond the reach of human sight, a figure floated on a cloud.

It was the coachman. Or rather, the entity that had worn the coachman’s face.

He shed the disguise like a heavy coat, revealing an old man in white robes with a long, flowing beard that seemed to merge with the mist. He held a staff, and his golden eyes twinkled with the light of galaxies.

If Alaric had looked up with his Mangekyo, he might have recognized the energy signature. Or perhaps not... obviously not.

It was Kami. The observer.

The entity stroked his beard, looking down at the balcony scene.

’Hohoho...’ Kami chuckled, the sound vibrating through the ether. ’Alaric, what a lovely life you have carved out for yourself.’

He watched the family for a moment longer, a benevolent smile on his face.

’It’s like I’m watching a movie... hohoho. A romance. A tragedy averted. A comedy in the making.’

Kami turned, fading into the light of the sun.

’Enjoy it while it lasts, young traveler. The script is far from over...’

’Ah, I almost forgot about my little kitty.’

.

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