Buzz... Buzz...
As evening settled in and the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky burned with a blood-red glow. The solemn, resonant toll of the evening bell rang out from the Temple, echoing through the mountains of Alamut. Startled vultures hastily drew in their wings and obediently retreated to their nests.
The evening bell had not sounded for a long time...
Eyes of all ages, young, youthful, and elderly alike, turned toward the shadowed depths of the mountains with a pilgrim's reverence, each lost in their own thoughts.
Thin trails of cooking smoke rose as the Arab villages scattered across the Alburz Mountains fell quiet beneath the fading afterglow, gradually sinking into the deepening dusk.
In the eastern village, a group of Hassans sat gathered around a fire, staring at one another in an oddly tense silence. Their gazes drifted again and again toward the Temple of the Evening Bell atop Alamut's main peak, all converging on the tightly sealed stone cavern entrance, as if waiting for something.
Crackle...
Only when the firewood split with sharp pops and the flatbreads began to smell scorched did they snap back to their senses, hurriedly turning their attention to their nearly ruined meal.
Jingmi and that kid... they've been inside for two hours now, haven't they?
The meat stew in the pot bubbled softly. The Hassans chewed their dry flatbread absentmindedly, yet most of their attention remained fixed on the towering temple. Their thoughts ran wild, conjuring all sorts of possibilities, leaving their expressions increasingly strange.
What exactly was the old man talking to them about? Could it really be marriage customs and procedures?
...
Deep within the Temple of the Evening Bell, in a corner, Hassan of the Serenity knelt beside a small fire, carefully cooking porridge and preparing drinks as he attended to them. But his nerves got the better of him, and he repeatedly knocked bowls and dishes together, growing more flustered each time.
Unable to watch any longer, Hippolyta stepped in to help, finally steadying the situation.
"It's been a long time since we parted in Uruk. You're still as spirited as ever, Old Master Ziusudra."
Samael picked up a date and casually tossed it into his mouth, chewing as he savored the flavor, reminiscent yet subtly different from what he remembered in Uruk, greeting him with easy familiarity.
"Thrown into a desperate situation, fighting your way back from the brink, and defeating both the Hun and Persian armies in succession... your brilliance and wisdom haven't faded in the slightest."
The elderly man across from him, dressed in a hooded robe with an austere, timeworn face, responded calmly. His eyes were as deep and unfathomable as a secluded valley.
The lamplight flickered, and the two figures seated across the stone table seemed to drift in and out of alignment with the wavering flames.
"Wasn't I forced into it by you? If you hadn't stabbed Romulus, leaving Rome leaderless and on the verge of collapse, with the entire Pan-Hellenic defense line about to give way, I wouldn't have had to step in myself to salvage that hopeless situation."
Samael rolled his eyes, a faint glint flashing in them as a half-smile tugged at his lips.
"So you've come to hold me accountable?"
At that low, echoing question, Hassan of the Serenity, who stood nearby holding a tray of drinks, went pale and began to tremble, nearly dropping everything in his hands.
Hassan-i-Sabbah, the founder of the Assassins, known as the Old Man of the Mountain, had long since retired to the Temple of the Evening Bell in pursuit of divine teachings. His blade had remained sheathed for years, and he rarely involved himself in worldly conflicts.
Yet his status was unparalleled, and his assassination techniques had transcended mortal limits, approaching the realm of the divine. Thus, he was also known as the Old Man of the Mountain.
As the Old Man of the Mountain, his duty was not only to strike down corruption and degeneration within the Assassins, but also to act as the "Hassan who kills Hassan."
If any Hassan who inherited the title showed signs of wavering resolve or decline in skill, he would appear as an overseer and personally take their head.
The old man before them was not only their teacher, but also the watcher who judged their every action.
Jingmi, the youngest among them, both revered and feared him.
And according to legend, in her future, she would ultimately be executed by the Old Man of the Mountain due to a collapse brought on by emotional turmoil.
"You have your stance, and I have my own plans. What is there to hold me accountable for? Besides, an assassin is just a weapon. What matters is who's wielding the blade and where it's pointed. Even if I wanted to pursue the matter, I should be having a talk with the employer about their grand ambitions. As for coming to the Vulture's Nest, I simply wanted to catch up with you, old man."
Samael raised a hand and gave the thoroughly frightened young Hassan beside him a reassuring pat, letting out a casual chuckle. A trace of nostalgia flickered in his eyes.
"After all, you helped us quite a bit back in Uruk. Ana's change also came from your advice. Since we go way back, it's only right I come by and thank you in person."
With that, the Ancient Serpent smiled and took the tray from the trembling hands of Hassan of the Serenity, lifting the cups and handing one to himself and one to the man across from him, neatly rescuing the flustered girl.
"Hmm? That smells wonderful."
Samael stirred the spoon, producing a crisp, pleasant chime. He raised his cup slightly in acknowledgment, took a sip, and let the rich sweetness spread across his tongue. His eyes narrowed in clear enjoyment.
"This is jellab. If you like it, have the girl prepare more."
The old man beneath the hood paused briefly, a faint hint of reminiscence passing through his deep eyes. When he spoke again, his voice carried a softer, more measured tone.
Jellab is a classic Arabian drink made from grape syrup and rose water, mixed with pine nuts and raisins. Its flavor is rich and fragrant, quite pleasing to the palate.
Hassan of the Serenity, attending nearby, was particularly skilled at preparing it.
Of course, its original purpose had mostly been to make poisoning and assassinations more convenient.
But in the Old Man of the Mountain's current tone, it clearly served as a subtle gesture of goodwill, quietly easing the atmosphere between them into something more amicable.
"What do you think of Cyrus?"
After finishing a few cups, Samael leaned back against the stone wall, idly eating dates as he casually shifted the topic.
"A benevolent ruler. A competent emperor..."
The Old Man of the Mountain closed his eyes for a moment, choosing his words, then slowly opened them again, his gaze deep and steady.
"Mm. The Great Emperor is a good man. He has distributed grain to the mountain folk, allowed us to reclaim land and grow crops, and permitted us to spread our teachings in the villages..."
Hassan of the Serenity, standing at the side, gradually relaxed in the softened atmosphere and couldn't help but add his own agreement.
Samael nodded, recalling the accounts he had gathered along the way about Cyrus the Great, while sorting through the scattered fragments of history about the Persian Empire buried in his memory.
In the end, the Ancient Serpent had to admit that these evaluations were fair.
Persia had once been a weak tribe in the southwest. After Cyrus took power, he devoted himself to strengthening the nation. With exceptional military talent, as if guided by divine favor, he secured victory after victory. He conquered Media, Lydia, and Neo-Babylon in succession, unifying most of Mesopotamia.
During his reign, Persia flourished and grew stronger, laying the foundation for more than two centuries of imperial expansion. His vision and capability were beyond question.