Samael gently swirled his teacup and took a small sip.
"What price did Cyrus pay to bring you out of this Temple of the Evening Bell?"
"A century of leniency, and the continued favor the mountain folk enjoy to this day."
"Mm. Worth a single strike."
The Ancient Serpent nodded in approval, then set down his cup and quietly looked out toward the solemn, deathly valley beyond.
"But a weapon is still just a weapon. The sacred fire of the Persian pantheon has no place for those who serve the darkness. In the end, you won't be able to leave these mountains."
There was no need to argue the point. The old man paused briefly, then inclined his head slightly, his calm gaze settling on the Divine Spirit before him.
"Then it is worth only that one strike. After that, I will lead the Order out of this conflict. Will that satisfy you?"
At the side, Hassan of the Serenity was utterly stunned when he saw the Old Man of the Mountain give even the slightest bow.
Not even Cyrus the Great, who had shown the mountain folk a century of favor and personally come to request his aid, had been treated like this.
More than that, there was even a trace of entreaty in his words. The implication alone was staggering.
"No need to rush. I came this time specifically to thank you for your help in Uruk. I was in a hurry on the way here and didn't bring any gifts, so how about I offer you three pieces of advice instead?"
Samael waved a hand casually, a faint smile on his lips. His vertical pupils gleamed with a dark, reflective light, layered with meaning.
"Please, go on…"
"Listen carefully.
To those who carry Rome in their hearts, show no humility. The eagle banner will fall.
To those who carry the flame in their hearts, show no submission. Darkness need only inherit the embers.
To those who carry purity in their hearts, show no understanding. The Gray Wolf and the White Deer will toll the evening bell."
As the old man listened to each line, the weight of their meaning struck his mind like rolling thunder. The once still depths of his thoughts rippled, then surged, then rose into crashing waves.
By the end, the expression of this Grand Assassin shifted again and again. Even his normally composed face could not conceal the shock surging within him.
What Samael had given him was, in truth, a revelation.
And all of it was closely tied to these mountain people before him, to the Arabs of the future, and to what would one day become Islam.
In time, the Arabs would rise with a curved blade in one hand and the Quran in the other, forging a vast empire. Its reach would extend east to the Indus River basin and the Pamir Plateau, bordering the western regions of China; west to the Atlantic Ocean; south toward the lands of Mozambique; and north to the Caucasus Mountains, spanning three continents across Asia, Africa, and Europe.
This would be the Arab Empire, known in Persian as "Tazi."
And Samael's three pieces of advice corresponded to its fate.
These followers of the faith would first defeat the Byzantine Empire, witnessing the fall of Rome's eagle standard. Then they would absorb the Persian Empire of the Sassanid era, rising to their peak.
But in the end, this empire, after more than six hundred years of prosperity, would be destroyed by the Mongol armies, who claimed descent from the Gray Wolf and the White Deer.
And along with it, the Assassins would collapse as well.
In the future, Mongol cavalry would sweep in like a flood, capturing the Vulture's Nest and slaughtering every man, woman, and child of the Assassins. That would be their end.
Of course, in this world already warped beyond recognition, how things would truly unfold remained uncertain.
For instance, whether the glory of Romulus and Cyrus would carry on into Sassanid Persia and Byzantine Rome was hard to say.
And although the Hun Empire also revered the Gray Wolf and White Deer, Attila, as an interstellar being, had no real connection to the future Mongols.
So in the end, Samael's three pieces of advice were a blend of truth and falsehood.
But from his past experience of guiding Gilgamesh, Samael knew that for those who could sense destiny, all it took was a few vague hints and a gentle push to awaken their instinct for foresight.
Besides, most of what he said was true. He had only trimmed and arranged it in a way that favored himself.
The Ancient Serpent smiled faintly, a trace of satisfaction curving at his lips as he spoke in a low, measured tone.
"Lastly, on Ana's behalf, I'll give you two more pieces of advice.
Nothing is true. The essence of the world is fragile, easily shattered. Faced with such a fragile illusion, we must become the guardians of our own civilizations.
Everything is permitted. As we stand in this world, each of us is both the designer and the executor of our own actions, and we must bear the consequences that follow."
Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.
Shaken once again, the Old Man of the Mountain rose solemnly, placed a hand over his chest, and bowed with deep reverence.
"Thank you for your revelation. I will remember your teachings."
At this point, Hassan of the Serenity standing nearby was completely overwhelmed, practically stunned into silence.
Samael lowered his gaze to the drink rippling in his cup, his eyes distant and profound as he murmured softly,
"Cyrus has given you stability in the past and present. I offer you prosperity in the future. So, will you hear my request?"
"…What is it that has made you involve yourself in this human war?"
The old man fell silent for a moment before lifting his head to meet the gaze of the deity.
Samael let out a short laugh.
"To reshape the planet and ascend above the gods? So many are fighting over it. Why shouldn't I be the one who claims it?"
The Old Man of the Mountain could not hide his surprise. In his impression, this Divine Spirit had never been particularly ambitious. Whether it was the throne of Uruk or the authority of Paradise Lost, he had always been willing to give them up without hesitation, showing little desire for power or victory.
Now, the Ancient Serpent's tired eyes narrowed slightly, his vertical pupils tightening as a sharp, dangerous glint flashed within them.
"If no one is willing to bow, then let war end war and slaughter end slaughter. I will be the one to set new rules for this world."
"In that divine war on the Land of Nothingness, you spared and saved many Persians…"
"I embody death, not slaughter."
Samael yawned, answering casually. Then he straightened a little, lifting his gaze to the old man across from him as he spoke again.
"That's enough reminiscing. Have you thought about the favor I asked of you?"
"Cyrus has shown great kindness to the mountain people…"
"Relax. I won't ask you to act against Persia."
Samael's smile widened, his confident assurance easing the tension in the old man's furrowed brow.
Then the Ancient Serpent rose, lifting his cup, his gaze sharp and intent.
"So, Hassan-i-Sabbah… what is your answer?"
Buzz!
The evening bell roared.
Ether churned violently within the chamber as streams of blue-black flame surged forth. Under that baptism, the gray-robed elder transformed into a black-clad swordsman, a white bone skull mask covering his face, his cloak whipping behind him.
Clang!
Behind the skull mask, twin flames of blue-black fire burned fiercely in his eyes. The black-clad swordsman planted his great shield before him and raised his sword upright, facing the Angel of Death as he intoned with solemn conviction:
"By the decree of destiny, this sword is entrusted to you. This body shall serve beneath you!"