[Current Balance: 11,888,511,140 R]
---Havana, Cuba - Same Morning---
The Havana morning was already alive with a vibrant, tropical energy. The sun, climbing steadily in a clear blue sky, cast sharp shadows from the ornate Spanish colonial architecture.
The air was thick with the mingled scents of sea salt, roasting coffee, exotic flowers, and the faint, ever-present aroma of cigar smoke drifting from countless balconies and doorways. Below, the streets of the capital of the Captaincy General of Cuba teemed with life as merchants were hawking their wares in rapid-fire Spanish, there were elegantly dressed dons and doñas strolling along the plazas, also, uniformed soldiers patrolling with a practiced, almost lazy, authority, and the constant rumble of horse-drawn carts over cobblestone.
Perched high above this lively tableau, on the red-tiled roof of the Governor's Mansion, a figure stood in stark contrast to the busy scene below.
Alaric Kenway, with his crimson Justacorps that was a vibrant splash of color against the whitewashed walls of the mansion, surveyed the city with an almost possessive air.
He was tall, easily 6'4", and his presence should have been obvious, a beacon against the morning sky. Yet, somehow, he seemed to blend into the background, unnoticed by the throngs below.
Perhaps it was the angle of the sun, or the way he stood so perfectly still, or maybe… maybe it was just Alaric being Alaric. He was, after all, that man.
'I actually kinda like this place,' Alaric thought, a faint smirk playing on his lips as his gaze drifted across the plaza below, settling on a small, shaded gazebo within the mansion's private gardens. Several figures were gathered there, engaged in what appeared to be an animated conversation.
One of them, a stout man in an impeccably tailored, dark suit, his silver hair gleaming in the sun, was instantly recognizable to Alaric. Governor Laureano de Torres y Ayala, a key Templar figure in the Caribbean, according to the game lore.
Why was Alaric here, on the rooftop of the Templar Grand Master's Caribbean stronghold, so soon after leaving Pennsylvania? Simple. He'd used Hiraishin, teleporting from a Hiraishin marker he'd left in Havana during his previous brief stop. The journey from Pennsylvania to Havana, which would have taken weeks by sea, had been accomplished in the blink of an eye. And why Havana? Because it was significantly closer to Las Islas Filipinas than Philadelphia. Time was of the essence if he was to find Caroline.
And why, specifically, the rooftop of the Governor's mansion? Alaric's smirk widened. Well… a man could always use a few extra coins, couldn't he? Especially when those coins currently resided in the coffers of a high-ranking Templar.
With a thought, Alaric channeled a minuscule amount of chakra. Beside him, wood fibers began to coalesce, knitting together with impossible speed, forming an identical copy of himself… a Mokuton Bunshin.
The clone blinked, stretched, then looked at the original Alaric with an expression of perfect understanding. It nodded once, then, with a subtle shimmer, its features shifted, transforming into the unremarkable face of a common dockworker.
The clone then leaped soundlessly from the rooftop towards the main entrance of the Governor's mansion far below, not towards the grand front doors, but directly at the imposing iron gates of the main entrance.
As the clone landed with a soft thud on the cobblestones directly in front of the two liveried guards stationed at the gates, it offered a disarming, almost apologetic smile.
"¿Qué?" one guard grunted, startled by the sudden appearance.
"¿Eh?" the other echoed, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword.
"I'm terribly sorry to disturb you, gentlemen," the clone chuckled.
Before either guard could react further, the clone's hands lashed out with contemptuous ease. Two swift, open-palmed slaps to their jaws, not even with full force, and both guards crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
"¡I-Intruso!" The shout came from a pair of guards just inside the gates, who had witnessed the sudden takedown. They raised their muskets, the barrels glinting in the sun, and fired.
The clone didn't even flinch as the lead balls slammed into its chest, the impacts barely making it stumble. It smirked, the Henge still holding perfectly. While the guards frantically tried to reload their single-shot muskets, the clone strode forward, grabbed the ornate iron bars of the gate, and with a grunt of effort that was mostly for show, yanked them open with a screech of protesting metal.
Now, the commotion had truly begun. Shouts of alarm, the clang of an alarm bell, and the sound of running feet echoed from within the mansion grounds. More guards, alerted by the musket fire, came rushing towards the breached gate with their faces being a mixture of confusion and aggression.
The clone grinned, a predatory light in its disguised eyes. It dashed towards the two guards who had fired at it, who were still fumbling with powder and shot.
A fist, moving with blurring speed, slammed into one guard's ribs with a sickening crunch. The clone then spun, a perfectly executed 360-degree kick connecting with the other guard's jaw, sending him flying backwards to land in a heap.
As both bodies dropped simultaneously, the newly arrived contingent of guards, perhaps a dozen of them, widened their eyes in disbelief. They immediately lifted their own muskets, a ragged volley of shots erupting.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
---
The real Alaric, still perched comfortably on the rooftop, observed the clone's antics below with an amused chuckle, a fresh cigar already lit between his fingers.
'Good,' he thought, taking a leisurely drag. 'I didn't really need to do this, could have just slipped in unnoticed. But… it's a good show to watch. And it keeps Torres and his guests… occupied.'
While the clone created a very loud and very violent distraction at the main gate, drawing the vast majority of the mansion's guards towards the commotion, Alaric moved.
He slipped through an open window on the upper floor of the mansion, finding himself in a lavishly decorated, but currently empty, guest bedroom. He moved silently through the opulent corridors, his senses guiding him. The Mind's Eye of the Kagura, combined with his natural sensory abilities, made navigating the mansion and avoiding the few remaining servants or guards child's play.
He soon found what he was looking for: Governor Torres's private office.
It was a large, imposing room, filled with heavy mahogany furniture, shelves overflowing with books and scrolls, maps of the Caribbean adorning the walls, and a general air of power and wealth. Alaric's gaze, however, was drawn to a smaller, less conspicuous door tucked away near Torres's large, ornate desk. It was clearly a reinforced door, likely leading to a private vault or strongroom.
Alaric walked over to it, tested the handle. Locked, of course. He could pick it, or use a subtle Fuinjutsu to disable the mechanism, but where was the fun in that? And time was, relatively speaking, a factor.
He smirked, then delivered a single, precise, chakra-enhanced kick to the lock. With a sharp crack of splintering wood and a groan of tortured metal, the door burst inwards.
Inside, it was exactly as he'd expected. Chests. Lots of them. Heavy, iron-bound chests, some open, revealing stacks of gold and silver coins, others still sealed, but radiating the distinct aura of accumulated wealth. This was clearly Torres's personal hoard, the profits of his… various enterprises.
'Heh... let me just take all of it,' Alaric thought, a greedy glint in his eyes. He walked from chest to chest, placing a hand on each one. With a mental command to the System, the contents of each chest… coins, jewels, valuable documents, everything… vanished without a sound, deposited directly into his System balance. 'These are all his personal ill-gotten gains anyway… consider it a Templar tax.'
[+ 542,060 R]
[Current Balance: 11,889,053,200 R]
'Well... for a governor, he certainly earns a lot,' Alaric smirked, looking around the now mostly empty strongroom. He'd left a few token items, a few scattered coins, just to make it look like a particularly brazen robbery rather than a complete, inexplicable vanishing act.
He casually walked out of the office, then out of the mansion itself, using a side entrance, his movements leisurely, unhurried.
He could sense his wood clone, having successfully drawn away all significant guard presence and caused a satisfactory amount of chaos, now retreating from the main gate area, leading the remaining guards on a wild goose chase through the outer gardens before it would eventually dispel itself.
"That was fruitful..." Alaric murmured, stepping out into the Havana sunlight, a satisfied smile on his face. He took a final drag from his cigar, then flicked the butt into a nearby ornate fountain. "Now, time to fly to Las Islas Filipinas..."
"...Actually, I gotta check out Hawaii first. Always wanted to see those volcanoes."
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