System in Assassin's Creed

Chapter 388: Chapter 387: The Shadow of the Ghost

Konoha Forward Command Camp - Land of Grass

The heavy canvas flap of the command tent fell shut behind Alaric, but the air inside had already irrevocably shifted.

He stood near the entrance, entirely unbothered by the collective, paralyzing shock that had seized the war room. The luxurious, crimson fabric of his coat draped smoothly over his broad shoulders, a sharp, aristocratic contrast to the mud-splattered armor of the frontline commanders. He took a slow, deliberate drag from the premium cigar clamped between his teeth, exhaling a fragrant plume of grey smoke that curled lazily toward the lantern-lit ceiling.

”You called?” Alaric repeated smoothly, a faint, deeply amused smirk curving his lips as he looked around the frozen table.

Tsunade Senju exhaled a long, shuddering breath, the tension bleeding from her spine as she forced her racing heart to steady. She met his piercing blue eyes, her own amber gaze flashing with a mixture of profound relief and administrative irritation.

”Alaric,” Tsunade said, her voice reclaiming its iron-clad authority. ”You’re here... good.”

The spell holding the room hostage finally broke. The seasoned Jonin commanders, recovering their wits, immediately straightened their postures, shifting their attention back to the massive topographical map spread across the central table. They understood, intuitively, that the arrival of this specific man meant the strategic arithmetic of the entire war had just been violently tilted in their favor.

”Since you are present, Kenway-dono, allow us to apprise you of the current theater,” one of the older, battle-scarred commanders began, stepping forward with a crisp nod of respect.

For the next ten minutes, the command tent transformed into a rapid-fire briefing of slaughter and logistics. The commanders took turns detailing the sheer, unadulterated devastation unfolding on the plains outside. They reported how the Iwagakure vanguard had been systematically crushed, how the explosive tag barrages had forced their heavy infantry to retreat into the mud, and how the flawlessly maintained supply lines from the Fire Capital had ensured the Konoha forces never suffered a moment of fatigue.

Through it all, Alaric simply listened.

He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t offer tactical suggestions. He remained leaning slightly against the wooden support pole of the tent, his posture utterly relaxed as he casually smoked his cigar, absorbing the data with the detached, clinical serenity of a deity observing ants building a colony.

”And finally,” a burly, broad-shouldered commander concluded, his eyes gleaming with the fierce, adrenaline-fueled light of impending victory. ”Our deep-cover scouts confirm that the Third Tsuchikage, Ōnoki, is marching directly for our lines. But it is incredibly fortunate that you are now here to fight him, Alaric-san. With your power anchoring our center, the Tsuchikage’s assault will be shattered before it even begins.”

Alaric paused, the cherry of his cigar glowing brightly as he took one last puff.

He slowly reached up, pulling the cigar from his lips, and offered the burly commander a calm, definitive shake of his head.

”I won’t be the one facing Ōnoki,” Alaric stated, his voice a low, resonant baritone that instantly snuffed out the triumphant fervor in the tent.

A profound, bewildered confusion washed over the gathered military brass. Whispers broke out among the commanders. Tsunade and Shikaku simultaneously raised their brows, exchanging a swift, highly communicative glance. They knew, with absolute, terrifying certainty, that Alaric possessed the raw, catastrophic power to swat the Tsuchikage out of the sky without breaking a sweat. So why refuse the engagement?

Tsunade let out a soft, understanding sigh, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

”It is understandable, Alaric,” Tsunade said, her tone laced with a grim, respectful pragmatism. ”There is no shame in avoiding a direct confrontation with the Tsuchikage. Ōnoki wields the Dust Release, a kekkei tōta capable of dismantling matter at the molecular level. To face him in open combat is to invite complete erasure. Even for a man of your caliber, it is entirely normal to value your own life over a border dispute.”

It was a perfectly logical assumption, grounded in the brutal realities of shinobi warfare. But standing to her right, Shikaku Nara’s dark eyes narrowed into sharp, calculating slits. The master strategist stared at the anomaly’s relaxed posture, feeling a distinct, jarring dissonance.

”No,” Shikaku interjected, his voice quiet but carrying enough weight to silence the tent. He looked directly into Alaric’s electric-blue eyes. ”That’s not it. You have never once shied away from a lethal threat out of self-preservation. There is something significantly more to this than what you are telling us.”

Alaric’s smirk widened into a brilliant, genuinely appreciative smile. He gave a slow, respectful nod of his head toward the Nara patriarch.

”Haku will be the one to fight Ōnoki,” Alaric declared smoothly, dropping the bombshell with the casual ease of discussing the weather.

The reaction was instantaneous and explosive.

”What!?” a commander gasped, stepping forward in sheer disbelief. ”You intend to send your student against the Tsuchikage!?”

”With all due respect, Alaric-san!” another Jonin protested, his face flushed with panicked urgency. ”We are fully aware that Yuki Haku is a key player in this war. The boy is an absolute monster; he slaughtered a thousand men in the north, and we respect his S-class capabilities immensely! But Ōnoki is a reigning Kage! He is a veteran who survived battles against someone like Madara Uchiha! They are in entirely different leagues!”

”A teenager cannot stand against Particle Style!”

”It’s tactical suicide!”

Alaric allowed them to vent. He stood perfectly still amidst the rising cacophony of objections, his expression an impenetrable mask of serene indifference. He slowly raised his cigar to his lips, taking a long, deliberate drag as the commanders passionately argued the impossibility of his decision.

When the panicked opinions finally began to die down, starved of oxygen by his absolute lack of response, Alaric exhaled a thick cloud of grey smoke.

”It doesn’t matter,” Alaric said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a chilling, absolute authority that pinned every man in the room to the floorboards. ”Haku will be the one to fight Ōnoki. He is more than ready.”

He let his gaze sweep over the terrified commanders before locking onto the Hokage.

”I am merely here to observe,” Alaric continued, his tone dropping the casual pretense, exposing the cold, machiavellian architect beneath. ”There are significantly bigger players about to step onto the board, and they will begin to play the game very soon. I just don’t know exactly when.”

The Jonin commanders looked at one another, their faces pale with utter bewilderment. Bigger players? In their seasoned, militaristic minds, a total war between two of the Five Great Shinobi Nations was the absolute pinnacle of global conflict. What could possibly be bigger than a clash of Kage?

However, Shikaku and Tsunade caught the grim, apocalyptic undertone immediately. The air in their lungs turned to ice.

”The tactical briefing is concluded,” Tsunade announced abruptly, her voice cracking like a whip. She waved a dismissive, urgent hand toward the tent flap. ”All Jonin commanders, return to your divisions and execute the defensive strategies we formulated. Shikaku and Alaric shall remain here.”

The commanders hesitated, a deep, gnawing sense of doubt tugging at their instincts regarding these unseen ’bigger players’, but military discipline won out. They bowed sharply and filed out of the tent, the heavy canvas falling shut to seal the three remaining figures in privacy.

The moment the last boot-step faded into the muddy camp outside, Alaric raised his right hand and effortlessly snapped his fingers.

VMMMM.

A localized, golden dome of complex sealing kanji instantly expanded outward from his boots, enveloping the war table and the three occupants in a flawless, shimmering sphere. The ambient noise of the encampment... the shouting soldiers, the marching boots, the crackle of distant fires... was immediately severed, leaving them encased in an absolute, suffocating silence where only they could hear one another.

Shikaku let out a long, heavy breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at the glowing barrier.

”I have a terrible feeling,” Shikaku murmured, his dark eyes shifting to Alaric, ”that whatever you are about to say must be directly related to the Akatsuki, the Jinchūriki, and the Tailed Beasts.”

Alaric chuckled softly, tapping his cigar against a wooden beam to dislodge the ash. ”The Nara intellect. It truly is a remarkable thing, Shikaku. You guys are always so sharp.”

”It is not always for the best,” Shikaku sighed wearily, his shoulders slumping under the phantom weight of the intelligence he was about to receive. ”Sometimes, seeing the shadows before they arrive is more of a curse than a blessing.”

Alaric smiled, bringing the cigar to his lips for a final drag. He let the smoke curl upward, his blue eyes hardening into chips of frozen ice as he delivered the horrific truth.

”Sooner or later,” Alaric stated, his voice devoid of any warmth, ”the Ghost of the Uchiha, Madara, will begin to move.”

Tsunade and Shikaku’s eyes widened to impossible proportions. The blood completely drained from their faces, leaving them looking like polished marble.

They had grown up on the terrifying, world-shaking legends of Madara Uchiha. He was the dark myth of their grandfather’s era, an entity possessing power so vast and incomprehensible that only the First Hokage, Hashirama Senju, could stand against him. Madara was a man capable of casually cleaving mountains in twain and controlling the Nine-Tails as a mere pet. To hear that he was actively entering the modern board spelt an unmitigated disaster for the entire continent.

”Madara Uchiha!?” Tsunade couldn’t help but gasp, her hands gripping the edge of the war table so tightly the wood groaned. ”As in... THAT Madara Uchiha!?”

Alaric gave a slow, definitive nod.

”Yes,” Alaric confirmed, stepping closer to the map. ”The true leader and absolute mastermind behind the Akatsuki was Madara. However, the man wearing the spiral mask, the one barking orders to Pein and executing the ground-level operations... is actually Obito Uchiha.”

Both Tsunade and Shikaku flinched violently, their shock compounding upon itself as the staggering revelation struck them. Obito Uchiha. The supposedly dead, heroic teammate of Kakashi Hatake.

Seeing their utter bewilderment, Alaric raised a platinum-blonde brow, a dry chuckle escaping him.

”I take it Kakashi probably never told you guys what happened in the cavern,” Alaric noted, shaking his head slightly. ”Well, I don’t really blame him. Finding out your dead best friend is actually an international terrorist responsible for your sensei’s death tends to cause a bit of psychological whiplash. The traumas that guy buried probably came back to slap him right in the face.”

Shikaku’s brilliant mind, overcoming the initial shock, began to furiously connect the geopolitical dots.

”If that is true,” Shikaku reasoned, his voice tight, ”then from how you worded it... this Obito Uchiha was deliberately impersonating the legendary Madara.”

”Precisely,” Alaric nodded, validating the strategist’s deduction. ”Obito did it entirely under the real Madara’s command. It was a calculated ruse designed to strike absolute fear into the hidden villages while they systematically gathered the nine Tailed Beasts to resurrect the Ten-Tails.”

Alaric paused, looking directly into Tsunade’s horrified amber eyes. ”And the both of you should know exactly how apocalyptic that is...”

Tsunade nodded her head gravely, a cold sweat breaking out across her forehead. It would create a mass panic the likes of which the world had never seen. A terrorist organization filled with S-rank, immortal criminals possessing the combined, world-ending chakra of all the Tailed Beasts would be a global catastrophe.

”But it gets worse,” Alaric added casually, driving the final nail into the coffin of their hopes. ”The real Madara should probably be alive by now. If not, he will be very soon. When I intervened and defeated Pein in Amegakure, Obito opted to cut his losses. He forcefully gouged out Pein’s eyes... the Rinnegan. And the Rinnegan, for all its destructive power, has the absolute ability to resurrect the dead.”

The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush bone.

Tsunade couldn’t take the suffocating pressure anymore. With a raw, furious snarl, she slammed her clenched fist directly onto the massive topographical table in front of her.

CRACK-BOOM!

The heavy timber completely shattered, exploding into a shower of splinters and torn parchment as the table was violently obliterated by her monstrous strength.

Shikaku remained entirely silent amidst the raining debris, his hands steepled before his face. His brain was in overdrive, frantically spinning through thousands of tactical scenarios, trying to find a viable countermeasure against a resurrected, mountain-leveling god wielding the eyes of the Sage of Six Paths. He found absolutely none.

Alaric, on the other hand, merely smiled at the display of raw, administrative frustration.

”And that,” Alaric said smoothly, gesturing to the shattered table, ”is exactly why I am not going to waste my time or my energy fighting Ōnoki.”

He leaned back, his blue eyes flashing with the cold, calculating thrill of an apex predator anticipating the ultimate hunt.

”I might be strong,” Alaric admitted, a rare moment of transparent pragmatism coloring his tone. ”But I don’t know exactly how overwhelmingly strong a fully resurrected Madara is going to be. There are simply too many variables. If the real Madara returns, and he successfully integrates the Rinnegan into his own skull... it would be an unmitigated disaster for every single Shinobi Village on this continent. I cannot afford to be exhausted or distracted by a border skirmish when someone like him touches down.”

Alaric took a final, deep drag from his cigar. He dropped the glowing stub onto the muddy floorboards, lifting his heavy black boot to crush it thoroughly into the earth.

He turned his broad back on the two stunned leaders, walking slowly toward the exit of the glowing silence seal.

”Well...” Alaric murmured, his voice echoing with absolute, terrifying finality as he reached the edge of the barrier. ”...in any case, I’ll be the one to fight Madara. He is a danger I simply cannot let loose.”

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