[Balance Remaining: $646,286,326.31]
Nassau - Commonwealth of The Bahamas
The gentle, rhythmic swaying of The Wraithling upon the turquoise waters of Nassau harbor was a deceptive comfort. To the untrained eye of the pirates drinking themselves into a stupor on the sandy shores, the frigate was merely a beautiful, dark-hulled warship. But standing upon the immaculate, polished oak of the quarterdeck, Alaric Jonathan Kenway knew the vessel for what it truly was: a flawless, floating apex predator.
Alaric rested his hands on the smooth mahogany of the railing, his electric-blue eyes sweeping over the pristine rigging, the heavy, chakra-forged iron cannons, and the eerily disciplined crew moving silently across the main deck. He let out a low, appreciative hum, running a hand over the timber that he had personally infused with the vitality of his Wood Release.
"I have to admit, Reuben," Alaric murmured, a profound, genuine smile touching his sharp features as he turned his head toward the Shadow Raven. "Every time I step foot on this deck, I'm reminded of why I built her. She is an absolute masterpiece. And you, my friend, have more than proven that you deserve to stand at her helm."
Reuben, standing comfortably beside the towering blonde with his arms loosely crossed over his tactical coat, offered a modest, deeply respectful dip of his head. Despite his fearsome reputation across the Atlantic, the quiet praise from the man who had forged him from a starving Bristol orphan into a legendary commander struck a deeply resonant chord in his chest.
"She is entirely unmatched, 'Laric," Reuben replied, his dark eyes reflecting the fading afternoon sun as he looked out over the bow. "We have fought against an incredibly wide variety of hostile vessels... British Man-o'-Wars, heavy Spanish galleons, and heavily modified corsair hunting packs. Yet, I am immensely proud to say that neither the ship nor a single man under my command has taken so much as a splinter of damage."
Alaric chuckled, the sound rich and warm in the salty ocean breeze. He leaned back, resting his elbows on the railing as he adopted a more business-oriented posture.
"I'm glad to hear it," Alaric said, his smile acquiring a sharp, logistical edge. "Which brings me to the requisition request you forwarded to Kassandra. You and Thulani are looking to aggressively expand your respective fleets, correct? So... just tell me what kind of timber you want me to grow. Are we talking massive, four-deck Man-o'-Wars? A dozen heavy galleons? Something even bigger to crush the French and Spanish armadas beneath their hulls? Ask, and you shall receive."
Reuben didn't immediately answer. He took a moment to observe the harbor, the tactical gears of his brilliant mind grinding with seasoned efficiency, before he slowly shook his head.
"No," Reuben stated, his voice calm and entirely devoid of the usual masculine hunger for sheer, overwhelming size. "Thulani and I spent a great deal of time discussing the naval doctrines of our enemies, and we have come to a very specific conclusion. We don't need floating fortresses that take ten minutes to turn in the wind. We need a combined fleet of at least five brigs and ten schooners."
Alaric raised a single, platinum-blonde brow, genuinely intrigued by the tactical restraint.
"Speed and maneuverability," Reuben elaborated, his hands dropping to his sides as he mapped out the naval warfare in the air between them. "If you can guarantee that those fifteen smaller ships are forged with the exact same impossible durability and offensive enhancements as The Wraithling or Liberty's Wrath... then size becomes a severe disadvantage for the enemy. With a pack of indestructible, hyper-fast brigs and schooners, we will effortlessly outmaneuver and dismantle every single armada the French and Spanish colonies attempt to send against us, even if they outnumber us a hundred to one."
Alaric stared at his lieutenant for a long, quiet moment, a fierce, soaring pride blooming in his chest.
He knew instinctively that Reuben wasn't speaking from a place of arrogant bravado or theoretical optimism. Alaric had taken Reuben and Thulani in when he was barely five and they were seven, drilling the brutal, uncompromising arithmetic of combat and survival into their very bones. They had been forged in the absolute highest fires of discipline. When they spoke of facing hundreds of enemy galleons with a handful of small ships, it was a statement of cold, proven confidence backed entirely by their own monstrous abilities.
"Quality over quantity, layered with tactical supremacy," Alaric smiled broadly, giving a firm, validating nod of his head. "I love it. You'll have your fleet."
He reached into the inner pocket of his regal black-and-gold coat, pushing a microscopic pulse of chakra into his storage tattoo. He retrieved a fresh, premium Celestial Cigar, bringing it to his lips. With a casual flick of his index finger, a golden spark ignited the tobacco, the sharp crackle masking the immense, otherworldly power required to generate the flame.
"I don't have much time left to spend loitering around the Caribbean today, unfortunately," Alaric explained, taking a slow, savory drag. He exhaled a thick cloud of aromatic smoke that drifted into the rigging. "I have... highly pressing business to attend to in another theater. But you and Thulani will find your new ships fully constructed, stocked, and waiting for you at the private coastal shipyards owned by the Celestial Brand up north."
Reuben nodded, committing the logistical rendezvous to memory.
Alaric took another puff of his cigar, his blue eyes narrowing slightly as he realized a distinct absence. "Speaking of the big guy... where is Thulani, anyways? I expected him to be coordinating the southern blockades with you."
Reuben uncrossed his arms, resting a hand casually upon the hilt of his short sword.
"He's currently operating far to the north," Reuben answered, his tone shifting into the crisp delivery of a military briefing. "His Majesty, William Penn Sr., has made his political desires incredibly clear. He wants the British Crown utterly and permanently evicted from any remaining footholds in the Americas. He specifically targeted their lingering colonial presence in Newfoundland and the territories surrounding Hudson's Bay. Vanguard fully cooperated with the King's mandate, and under Kassandra's direct strategic guidance, Thulani was dispatched with a heavy detachment to clear them out."
Alaric paused, the cigar hovering an inch from his lips. He furrowed his brow, processing the geopolitical map of the continent.
"That's... an interesting deployment," Alaric murmured, rolling the cigar thoughtfully between his fingers before taking another drag. He looked at Reuben through the haze of smoke. "If the French and Spanish colonial empires are currently mobilizing in the shadows, actively attempting to sandwich Pennmere in a two-front naval war, deploying one of our two primary Vanguard commanders to the frozen north to harass isolated British territories seems like a massive misallocation of elite resources right now."
Edward James Kenway, who had been leaning quietly against the mainmast and listening to the exchange with the seasoned ear of a former privateer, let out a rough, knowing chuckle.
"It's not about strategic optimization, mate," Edward chimed in, shrugging his broad shoulders as his Assassin robes rustled against the wood. "It's about a grudge. I'd wager a fraction of my fortune that William Penn simply wants the British completely scrubbed from this hemisphere out of sheer, unadulterated spite."
Edward crossed his arms, a wry, cynical smirk touching his lips. "I mean, can you blame the man? He was utterly and publicly disrespected by King George years ago when he peacefully traveled to London, pleading for the Crown not to reinstate the abhorrent slave system back in Bristol. Penn is a man of profound peace, yes, but he clearly hasn't forgotten the insult to his life's work."
'Oh, yeah...' Alaric thought, the memories of those early, foundational political struggles surfacing in his mind. The King of Pennmere possessed a long, quiet memory for perceived injustices against human liberty. 'I should probably send a shadow clone to check on how things are actually progressing back in Bristol when I have the time.'
Chuckling softly at the King's underlying pettiness, Alaric turned his attention fully to his cousin.
"And what about you, Edward?" Alaric asked, seamlessly shifting the conversation from warfare to commerce. "How has the business been faring lately amidst all this looming maritime tension?"
Edward took a moment, his easygoing smirk fading into a heavy, tired sigh that spoke of endless hours spent poring over complex shipping ledgers. He ran a calloused hand through his loose blonde hair.
"It's been a rough patch, to be entirely honest," Edward reported, his tone grounding the conversation in cold economics. "Ever since the French and Spanish kingdoms began showing overt, shadow aggression toward Pennmerian merchant vessels, His Majesty decided to strike back where it hurts. Penn officially and instantly cut off all Celestial supply lines directed toward their colonies and mainland ports."
Edward leaned forward, his blue eyes reflecting the gravity of the embargo. "Those two empires were historically the largest, most ravenous consumers for the specific tea and dental product lines that Caroline and I personally manage. With the embargo in full effect, our baseline sales volume has taken a significant, undeniable hit."
He quickly held up a hand, staving off any immediate concern. "But it hasn't dropped to the point of extinction. Not even close. Because of the absolute, flawless quality of the products, other massive empires... from the vast Ottoman territories all the way to the Qing Dynasty... are making tremendous, incredibly expensive logistical efforts to sail directly to Pennmere just to secure exclusive trade contracts for the Celestial Brand. They're eagerly buying whatever surplus the French and Spanish left behind."
Alaric listened to the economic breakdown, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his face. He gave a firm, reassuring nod of his head.
"Then it's absolutely nothing to worry about, cousin," Alaric stated, his voice ringing with the unshakeable confidence of a man who had already won the ultimate game of capitalism. "The Kenway family, and by extension the entire Commonwealth, is currently sitting on a mountain of wealth so vast it defies calculation. The Pennmerian Dollar has successfully ousted the British Pound and the Spanish Reale to become the strongest, most heavily backed currency in the entire world. Even the merchants in the deepest corners of the Ottoman Empire prefer our paper to their own gold."
He took a final puff of his cigar, the rich smoke drifting out over the harbor.
"Making massive amounts of money quickly is no longer our primary objective; we already have more of it than we could spend in ten lifetimes," Alaric philosophized, his tone carrying the visionary weight of a true emperor. "What is paramount now is actively maintaining the absolute, unblemished prestige of the Celestial Brand, and ensuring the long-term, global stability of the Pennmerian Dollar's value. If starving the French and Spanish of our luxuries forces them to the negotiating table, then the lost sales are merely a tactical investment in our future."
Seeing the flawless, undeniable logic in Alaric's assessment, both Edward and Reuben offered slow, concurrent nods of profound understanding. The anxiety of the embargo entirely evaporated, replaced by the secure knowledge that they were operating on an economic chessboard that their enemies couldn't even comprehend.
"Well then," Alaric smiled warmly, stepping away from the railing and adjusting the heavy, gold-trimmed cuffs of his regal military coat. He offered a singular, lazy wave of his hand. "I have to get back to Philadelphia. I have a few localized miracles to perform before I disappear again. Hold the line, boys."
Reuben immediately straightened his posture, his dark eyes shining with absolute, unwavering loyalty. He didn't offer a verbal farewell; instead, he brought his right fist sharply across his chest, tapping it firmly against his heart in a flawless execution of the Vanguard salute.
Seeing their legendary commander initiate the gesture, every single Vanguard operative stationed across the quarterdeck and the main deck ceased their duties instantly. In perfect, terrifying synchronization, dozens of heavily armed shadows turned toward the towering blonde anomaly, raising their fists to their chests in a silent, unified vow of lethal dedication.
Alaric looked at the sea of saluting soldiers, a low, deeply affectionate chuckle rumbling in his chest. It was a beautiful, humbling sight.
"Show-offs," Alaric murmured playfully.
Without weaving a seal, without a single spoken incantation, he simply willed the fabric of space to yield.
FLASH.
A blinding, crackling eruption of golden-platinum light engulfed the quarterdeck, illuminating the darkening Caribbean sky for a fraction of a millisecond. When the light died down, carrying the faint, lingering scent of ozone into the sea breeze, Alaric Jonathan Kenway was gone, leaving behind only an empty space on the polished oak.
"..."
"..."
Edward James Kenway stood perfectly still, his eyes wide as he stared blankly at the exact spot where his cousin had been standing a mere second ago. He blinked, slowly lowering his hand from where it had instinctively twitched toward his sword hilt during the sudden flash.
He let out a long, heavy breath, shaking his head in absolute, helpless bewilderment.
"I swear to God," Edward muttered, his Welsh accent thickening with sheer disbelief as he rubbed the back of his neck. "His abilities never fail to completely blindside me. I just can't get used to it. It's... it's bloody nonhuman, is what it is."
Reuben lowered his fist from his chest, his disciplined posture relaxing back into his usual, comfortable slouch. He turned his head, raising a highly amused, dark brow at the seasoned privateer before a rich, throaty chuckle escaped his lips.
"Don't worry about it, Edward," Reuben grinned, stepping back over to the heavy wooden wheel of the ship. "You'll get used to the impossible soon enough. We all do."
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