Gavin Banks chose his words carefully, moving on to the second question.
"Mentor is a position where sacrifice far outweighs reward. The dangers are very real — once your true identity is known to the Templars, you become their first target." He held eye contact. "But every member of the Brotherhood will stand behind you. We follow where the Mentor leads. As long as you don't retreat, neither will we."
"As for the third question..."
He hesitated.
"How the Brotherhood develops going forward — that's yours to determine. Speaking only for myself: the Templars killed many of my brothers and friends. But this is a war of ideology, not personal grievance. I don't hate them. We are Assassins who fight for people's right to choose. We are not terrorists. Revenge is not the objective. At least, it's not mine."
He paused again, longer this time.
"A long-term vision? I genuinely haven't been able to think that far. The Brotherhood's situation is too desperate right now for 'the future' to feel like anything other than a luxury. To put it simply — I want you to lead the Brotherhood out of this crisis. I'm not asking you to crush the Templars. I'm asking you to restore the balance. If you can do that, I would die for you."
Bella gave him a direct answer.
"I understand. I'll accept the position." She paused. "I hope you'll continue to support my work, Mr. Banks."
"It would be my honor."
After careful consideration of every angle, Bella had made up her mind. She needed the Brotherhood's reach — its eyes and ears across the world, its ability to move quietly through the shadows and pull intelligence from places she couldn't access directly.
Nearly three years since transmigrating, and she was still operating almost blind when it came to information.
006's intelligence network was his and his alone — she could borrow access occasionally, but it wasn't something she could rely on. Professor Charles Xavier was in a similar position. Natasha was another matter; the two of them were close enough that Natasha would help without hesitation. But S.H.I.E.L.D.? She'd sooner trust a trap.
Bella was no longer the anonymous nobody who'd landed in this world three years ago. She needed a proper intelligence apparatus. One she could call her own.
The financial side of things was a similar story — managing capital flows, handling assets that couldn't be traced through official channels, all of it needed people she could direct. The Brotherhood, freshly decimated by the Templar purge, was actually an ideal fit.
In ordinary circumstances, a fully operational Assassin Brotherhood would never hand leadership to an outsider. The fact that they were desperate was, paradoxically, the opportunity.
Even a ruined ship has iron left in it. However far the Brotherhood had fallen, it still had over two thousand years of accumulated infrastructure and institutional memory. An organization like that didn't simply cease to exist.
Taking over came with real advantages — but it also came with real problems. Templar hostility from the outside. The idealistic streak running through the Brotherhood's membership, which might mean not all of them would follow her without friction. Rebuilding chapters worldwide. Recruiting new members. Running training programs. All of that cost money, and the Brotherhood, at present, almost certainly had none.
But a top leadership position was worth all of it.
Ten days later, Bella slipped back into Japan under the radar. At the Osaka chapter's hidden facility, she met face to face with Gavin Banks and William Miles — the Brotherhood's only other surviving leader of comparable rank, who had flown in from the United States specifically for this.
Gavin Banks' Assassin training showed in the way he carried himself — a constant undercurrent of sharpness in his movements and bearing. Despite his relative youth, there was a coiled quality to him that surfaced without warning. William Miles, by contrast, looked entirely unremarkable: medium-brown complexion, a slightly receding hairline, hair going gray, the kind of plain, weathered face that wouldn't earn a second glance. He could have passed for a typical American rancher.
The location was a villa on the outskirts of Osaka. It had been donated by a Brotherhood member — technically organizational property, not belonging to any individual.
The first order of business was Bella's initiation. Only after that would the Mentor succession ceremony take place.
She wore white robes with a beak-shaped hood pulled down over her face, a longsword at her hip, three throwing knives tucked into the wide belt on the other side, and a Hidden Blade fitted to her left forearm. Of all the available options, she'd chosen the style closest to Altaïr's traditional design.
The ritual of removing the ring finger was long-abandoned — that particular tradition had been retired centuries ago. The ceremonial attire was purely for atmosphere. Anyone who walked down a modern street dressed like this wouldn't be stealthy for even three minutes before someone called the police.
The ceremony had only two officiants: Gavin Banks and William Miles. They stood to either side of her, faces obscured beneath their own hoods.
No audience. The logic was straightforward — anyone present was a potential capture and interrogation risk. A heavy dose of truth serum, and Bella's identity could be exposed. She was recognizable enough that it presented a genuine security concern. There was also the simple reality that the Brotherhood had almost no members left to invite.
In any case, the Brotherhood had long since updated its initiation protocols. A minimum attendance requirement was no longer part of the rules.
Torches burned in the underground chamber. A draft moved through from somewhere unseen, making the flames lean and shudder. It felt, Bella thought, like an unintended metaphor for what the Brotherhood had become.
William Miles spoke first. Born in 1948, he was fifty years old — the elder of the two officiants by a wide margin. He read from memory, but his voice carried the weight of ceremony.
"When others blindly pursue truth and reality, remember: nothing is true."
Bella lowered her head and repeated the words silently.
Gavin Banks continued: "When others are bound by law and morality, remember: everything is permitted."
She repeated those too, quietly. Then it was her turn. She snapped her Hidden Blade open.
"We work in the dark to serve the light. We are Assassins."
Traditionally, the initiation also included a Leap of Faith from a height into water — the physical proof of absolute trust in the order. But with convenient haystacks effectively extinct in the modern world, that element had been quietly retired alongside the finger.
No flowers. No applause.
And just like that, Bella was an Assassin.
The formation shifted. The two men stepped back in unison. Bella moved forward three deliberate paces past them, then turned. The three of them now stood in a triangular configuration — she at the apex, the other two at the flanks.
It was the Brotherhood's signature stance. Recognizable across centuries, replicated in insignia and ceremony alike. The shape was derived from an eagle skull pendant — the emblem of the Hidden Ones, the Brotherhood's predecessor organization. The story went that Amunet, preparing to leave for Rome, had watched her husband Bayek toss the pendant onto the desert sand. The outline it left became the Assassin sigil. That symbol had been carried forward for more than two thousand years.
Bella studied the oversized A configuration they'd formed and felt something very strange stir inside her.
I can't seem to escape this letter, can I? Wherever I end up, it follows me.
Why was it always an A?