The Atlantic Ocean - En Route to Nassau
Two full days had slipped beneath the polished hull of The Wraithling since she had departed the bustling docks of Philadelphia.
She was a masterpiece of naval engineering, cutting through the deep, churning blue of the Atlantic with a predatory grace that defied the cumbersome designs of the era. The Vanguard frigate did not battle the waves; she seemed to command them, her black sails drinking in the stiff tailwind to propel the vessel southward at a terrifying, relentless pace.
It was nearing five in the afternoon. The harsh, blinding glare of the midday sun had begun to mellow, bleeding into a rich tapestry of spun gold, bruised violet, and burnt orange across the western horizon. The salty ocean breeze was brisk and cooling, carrying the rhythmic, comforting creak of tightly wound rigging and the sharp snap of canvas.
High upon the quarterdeck, standing just a few paces away from the silent, focused helmsman steering the great ship, Edward Kenway and Reuben shared the commanding view.
Reuben leaned comfortably against the polished mahogany railing, the dark, tactical fabric of his Vanguard coat fluttering around his knees. Held loosely between his fingers was a premium Celestial Cigar, the tip glowing fiercely as he took a long, savory drag. wHe exhaled slowly, allowing the wind to snatch the thick, aromatic plume of smoke and trail it behind them over the ship's foaming wake. Alaric had been exceptionally generous, ensuring his elite commanders were thoroughly sponsored with the finest luxuries, keeping their morale as high as their lethality.
"Say, Edward," Reuben broke the companionable silence, his dark eyes shifting from the endless horizon to the former pirate standing beside him. "How's the Celestial Business doing these days?"
Edward paused, resting his forearms against the rail as he considered the vast, incomprehensible scale of his cousin's empire. The sea breeze tugged at his loose blonde hair, his upgraded Assassin robes shifting comfortably against his shoulders.
"To be entirely honest, mate," Edward replied, his voice carrying the rough, melodic lilt of his Welsh roots. "Aside from the specific distribution chains of the Celestial Tea and the dental products that Caroline and I personally manage, I haven't got the faintest bloody idea of the business in its entirety. The sheer scope of it is maddening."
Edward tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the wood, looking out over the rolling waves.
"However," he continued, a knowing, profoundly impressed smile touching his lips. "Given the staggering volume of fresh crops, raw materials, and crates of Celestial Salve that the Kenway family is constantly donating to sustain General Ashcombe's army in the borderlands... and the fact that our ledgers haven't even flinched at the expense... I can confidently wager that the Celestial Business is absolutely booming. It's a leviathan."
Edward turned his head, leveling a curious, perceptive gaze at the Vanguard commander. "Why do you ask, Reuben? You're not usually one to concern yourself with the merchant tallies."
Reuben shook his head slowly, taking another measured puff of his cigar.
"It's nothing much," Reuben replied, though the casual tone didn't quite mask the heavy, strategic calculation turning behind his dark eyes. "I've just been thinking a lot about the current state of our borders. I'm planning on submitting a formal request to Alaric to aggressively expand my fleet. I want more support on naval provisions, and I want at least five more frigates built to the exact specifications of The Wraithling. Thulani's been thinking the exact same thing for his own division."
Edward's thick blonde brows rose toward his hairline. A request of that magnitude wasn't just a simple logistical upgrade; it was the rapid mobilization of an armada.
"An entire fleet expansion?" Edward asked, the easygoing merchant vanishing as the seasoned, tactically minded privateer surfaced. His eyes narrowed slightly against the ocean glare. "Why the sudden rush for warships, mate? Is there something going on that hasn't made it to the civilian papers yet?"
Reuben let out a long, weary sigh, the kind of sound that belonged to a man carrying the secrets of a kingdom on his back. He crushed the fragile, white ash forming at the tip of his cigar against the rail.
"I'm certain Alaric has probably already read the encrypted files my spies sent to his office," Reuben explained, his voice dropping into a low, deadly serious register meant only for Edward's ears. "Or, knowing him, he likely already knew about it before my men even drafted the reports. But the truth is... the Spanish and French colonies have been holding highly classified, localized meetings in secret."
Edward's posture stiffened, the implications of that diplomatic union striking him like a physical blow to the chest.
"Pennmere is currently thriving," Reuben continued, gesturing vaguely toward the vast continent behind them. "But geographically, we are being completely sandwiched by the two largest colonial empires in the New World. They've watched us humiliate the British, and they've watched us absorb the Iroquois territories. They are threatened by our growth. If those two crowns ever decide to set aside their historical grievances and bare their teeth at Pennmere simultaneously... we are going to be fighting a massive, two-front war."
Reuben looked at Edward, the unyielding resolve of a Vanguard commander hardening his features. "If that day comes, Pennmere needs to have significantly more than what it possesses right now in terms of localized soldiers and naval superiority. A single frigate, no matter how powerful, cannot patrol an entire coastline."
Edward stared at Reuben for a long, heavy moment before turning his gaze back to the vast expanse of the sea, where the sun was now bleeding its final, fiery light into the darkening water.
"If what your spies say is true," Edward murmured, his voice tight with genuine concern, "then Pennmere truly does need to fortify its harbors. And quickly."
He gripped the railing, his mind flashing back to the lawless, chaotic years he had spent commanding the Jackdaw.
"From all the years I spent sailing under the black flag," Edward reminisced, a shadow of the old, ruthless corsair briefly darkening his eyes. "We pirates weren't really terrified of the British ships. The Royal Navy was arrogant, predictable, and slow to adapt. No... the ones we were truly wary of were the Spanish galleons and the French corsairs. Their naval networks spanning across the Americas and the Caribbean are incredibly vast, deeply entrenched, and ruthlessly efficient. If they combine their armadas against our shores, it will be a bloodbath."
Edward let out a soft breath, a confident, determined smirk breaking through the grim geopolitical assessment.
"Which is exactly why," Edward added, tapping his knuckles against the wood, "my little business venture down in Nassau is going to help Pennmere in a very profound, albeit unconventional, way. I'm not just going there to sell tea, Reuben. I'm going there to secure assets."
Reuben looked at the former pirate, a flicker of genuine respect warming his gaze. He understood implicitly. Nassau was a den of wolves, but if Edward could successfully leverage his old contacts and the Kenway wealth to turn those wolves into privateers loyal to Pennmere's coin, they would possess an instant, ready-made auxiliary fleet to harass the French and Spanish supply lines.
Reuben nodded his head in deep, silent understanding, fully intending to voice his approval of the strategy.
But before the words could leave his tongue, his finely tuned, chakra-enhanced senses spiked violently.
Reuben stopped mid-breath. He snapped his head toward the southern horizon, his dark eyes narrowing into dangerous, predatory slits as his senses washed over the darkening ocean. He felt the distinct, chaotic thrum of hostile intent cutting through the rhythmic pulse of the sea long before the physical shapes breached the horizon line.
Edward caught the sudden, chilling shift in the Vanguard commander's demeanor instantly. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
"What?" Edward asked sharply, his hand instinctively dropping to rest upon the ornate hilt of his cutlass. "What is it?"
Reuben didn't reach for his sword. He simply let out a low, deeply amused scoff, tossing his half-smoked Celestial Cigar carelessly over the railing to fizzle out in the churning sea below.
He folded his arms tightly across his chest, a wicked, bloodthirsty smirk curving his lips as he stared out at the rapidly approaching silhouettes of three heavily armed brigs breaking through the twilight mist.
"Pirates..."
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