novelSusiti Chapter 18 Intertwined
Chapter 18 Intertwined
This sudden proposal caught Lyon completely off guard. He had indeed fantasized about receiving the crown from his "brother," Baldwin IV, but that was all predicated on him being a legitimate prince. Now, what could a bastard with no connections, no prestige, and no army possibly use to contend with Princess Sibylla and the ambitious Guy behind her?
Having sorted everything out, Lyon's lips curled into a helpless smile as he shook his head: "Does the whole of Jerusalem have to be stained with blood for the sake of a throne? Assassination might eliminate one or two opponents, but then what? What about the remaining political enemies, the ever-watchful Saladin... Can you really kill them all?"
He raised his head and looked at Artyrus with candid eyes: "Violence and intrigue may allow one to quickly ascend the throne, but such a throne is destined to be built on quicksand and cannot last long."
Arrilo's eyelids lifted slightly, a rare occurrence for him: "So, you're planning to reject my offer?"
“It’s not entirely a rejection,” Leon said carefully, “I just…can’t meet your expectations in the short term. I have no intention of building a reign of terror sustained by hidden blades and fear. If you’re so eager to purge traitors and revitalize the organization, you’ll probably need to find another…more decisive collaborator.”
"Heh." A short, cold laugh escaped from Atirou's nostrils. "Assassination is just a tool. History is written by the victors; the process is never important. It seems I had too high expectations. You're still just a child who hasn't been weaned, only fit to live in a fantasy world of comfort."
His gaze, like a cold dagger, lingered on Lyon's face for a moment. Finding no trace of wavering, he said nothing more. With a flash of his white robe, he had already nimbly vaulted out the window like a nocturnal feline, disappearing into the darkness outside as if he had never been there.
Silence returned to the room, but Leon's heart sank. He still couldn't judge whether his choice had been right.
In the game, he treated assassination and tyranny as basic operations. From emperors and kings to courtiers and guests, he would kill any emperor he didn't like, kill any wife he didn't like, castrate any son he didn't like, and take the daughter he liked as his lover... But when all of this became a tangible reality, he found that he couldn't cross that line at all.
"Perhaps... I'm still too moral." With a hint of self-deprecating regret, he fell into a deep sleep.
For the next few days, Lyon and Jacob, like hibernating animals, huddled in their hotel room, refusing to step out. Lyon stumbled through learning the Arabic words Jacob had written down, while Jacob lay listlessly on the bed, listening to the clinking of glasses downstairs and swallowing hard.
Lyon often rested his chin on his hand, gazing at the window that had once been visited by the night wind and the white shadows—Atraro had vanished without a trace since that night.
At dawn on the fifth day, the sound of camel bells rang out from downstairs. Then, there was a knock on their door, and Earl Raymond's weary yet relieved voice called out, "Father! You didn't die in there, did you? Pack your things, let's go back!"
Accord flung open the door. The Earl stood outside, travel-worn, his eyes bloodshot, but a long-unseen, relieved smile played on his lips.
He sized up Jacob, "You actually didn't cause me any trouble," then his gaze swept past Jacob and landed on Leon, who was holding a papyrus scroll covered in Arabic writing, his brow furrowed. "Where have you been spending your money these past few days? How much dinar do you have left?"
Accord scratched his messy hair awkwardly: "You know, Your Excellency, the prices in Cairo are... a little bit expensive."
The count gave him a disgruntled nod, then swallowed his words, ultimately just waving his hand: "Alright, I'll get reimbursed by the Empress Dowager when we get back. Hurry up, prepare to return!"
The Tripoli knights and camel caravans gathered outside the city gates. The gifts they had brought with them had been sent to Saladin's treasury, and the empty ships were ready to carry the mission back. They sailed slowly along the canal toward Alexandria, where they transferred to the giant ship that flew the royal flag of Jerusalem, and set sail for Jaffa, the closest port to the Holy Land.
After being dragged to do hard labor for half a day, Accord, exhausted, with a sore back and drenched in sweat, finally staggered back to his cabin. Night had fallen. He closed the cabin door and saw Leon sitting with his legs crossed, engrossed in flipping through an Arabic children's picture book he had borrowed from the Count, by the light of a small oil lamp.
"Ha, you've got some free time..." Jacob groaned weakly, collapsing heavily onto his bed like a sack of grain, muttering, "Finally... the First Priest of the Levant will soon arrive in his pious Jerusalem!"
Leon didn't even look up, his gaze still glued to the book: "Father, remember to get into the habit of closing the door behind you."
Clutching his pillow, Accord mumbled sleepily, "Stop it... I clearly turned it off..."
Lyon sighed, glanced at the brightly lit, slightly ajar cabin door in front of him, then looked at the Accord who had already begun to snore softly, and had no choice but to get out of bed and go close the door himself.
Just as he reached out to push the door open, a white shadow silently slid out from the shadows behind the door like a ghost, startling Leon so much that he froze on the spot, his hand still in the closing position.
A simple white robe, a young yet familiar face... it was Atila.
He calmly surveyed the cabin, then quite naturally walked to a relatively comfortable corner piled with luggage, brushed off non-existent dust, and sat down.
"From now on," he announced calmly, "we are roommates."
Lyon snapped out of his daze and stared at him warily. "Haven't I already failed to meet your expectations? I can't help you with anything right now. If you just want a ride, go ahead, we'll leave each other alone."
Arylus showed neither anger nor murderous intent. He remained silent for a moment, as if organizing his thoughts, before speaking: "Yes, I do think your current ideas are... ridiculously naive." He then changed the subject, his tone revealing a barely perceptible, almost relaxed quality. "But what does that have to do with your future self? I was once... just a slave. Who could have imagined I would become an apprentice of the Assassins? I am just an apprentice now, so how can I be sure I can't become a master who surpasses my mentor in the future?"
"Slave?" Leon caught the unexpected word.
"What, want to hear a story?" Atirou let out a very low breath, almost not a laugh. "It's fine to tell you, anyway, my past is not like yours, which is sung by the common people and has a scandalous tale of illegitimate children."
His voice was as calm as if he were recounting someone else's experience: "My memories before becoming a slave are hazy. I only remember the village being massacred, my parents being killed like livestock by mounted invaders... I escaped, only to be caught by human traffickers and sold all over the place, eventually ending up on the black market in Tyre. I was disobedient, constantly trying to escape, and always being caught again. No buyer would want an... untamed slave. I became the longest-staying, and only unsellable commodity on the Tyre black market; they simply called me by the city's name. Until... my mentor appeared."
He looked up at Lyon: "Is this story interesting?"
Lyon, processing this information-packed confession, asked hesitantly, "So, what does this have to do with your change of heart and staying?"
"People always change. Identity, methods, goals... everything." Arrilo's voice was soft, yet carried a certain certainty born of worldly wisdom. "I am an apprentice yet to complete my training, and you are an unacknowledged illegitimate child. We cannot yet meet each other's expectations. But the threads of fate have already intertwined—one day you will need my sword, and one day I will need your authority. This is the path laid out by Heaven."
These heartfelt words left Leon with no reason to refuse. Looking at the young man before him, who had shed some of his assassin disguise and revealed his true past, a certain barrier in his heart seemed to melt away a little.
He nodded, a smile beyond his years on his face: "Then... I will try my best not to disappoint you."
Atreus closed his eyes and shook his head, as if trying to shake off a heavy past. He stood up, solemnly brushed away imaginary dust from his white robe, then knelt on one knee, raising his eyes, now clear and resolute, to gaze upon the future he had chosen:
"Now that we've embarked on a completely new path, the old symbols must be discarded. Let the name 'Tyre,' which represents slaves and outcasts, remain in the dust of the past."
He placed his right hand on his chest and performed a simple yet solemn bow.
"From this day forward, call me Altaïr—Altaïr of Jerusalem, and I will serve you on your future path with the sword in my hand."