[Current Balance: £2,733,402 9s. 11d.]
---
It was currently 2am as Alaric took a look at his golden pocket watch. Five hours have passed since he and Reuben went back to "Howard's Tavern" and Penn went to his place to rest.
Where was Alaric you may ask?
"Heh..." Alaric chuckled as he stood across from St. James's Palace, its stone facade lit faintly by torches.
Two hundred guards patrolled the grounds - half alert, half dozing at their posts. Alaric adjusted his clothes, and stepped forward.
He crossed the courtyard first while his boots were silent on the cobblestones. A pair of awake guards marched past as their lanterns sweeped the path.
Alaric paused mid-stride, Sharingan flickering in his eyes. The guards' gazes slid over him as though he were a trick of the shadows, and they continued without breaking rhythm.
The outer wall was just ahead. He placed a hand against the stone, chakra anchoring his steps as he scaled it vertically, weightless.
At the top, he crouched beside a drowsing sentry. The man yawned, oblivious, as Alaric dropped soundlessly into the inner garden.
Windows here were latched, but the third-floor casement groaned faintly under his grip. A twist of chakra shattered the lock's mechanism without noise.
Inside, he navigated dim corridors, avoiding creaking floorboards. A maid carrying a candle drifted by; Alaric melted into an alcove, her shadow passing inches from his boots.
'I sense something strong here...' Alaric thought as his eyes were fixed to a direction.
The basement entrance was guarded by four men playing cards. Alaric leaned against the doorway, Sharingan pulsing. "Fetch more wine," he murmured. The guards stood in unison, faces blank, and filed out.
Downstairs, the air smelled of damp and aged wood. The vault door, iron-bound, yielded to a concentrated push.
Inside, gold coins and gemstones lay piled in chests, glinting in the dark.
At the center sat a pedestal, its surface holding a faintly glowing circular object... wrinkled and bronze, humming with dormant power.
Alaric swept a hand across the treasures, leaving the gold and money alone. The System absorbed it all, leaving dust motes swirling in the void.
[+ £43,971,493 16s. 6d.]
[Current Balance: £46,704,896 6s. 5d.]
Behind the pedestal, a weathered scabbard caught his eye. He drew the sword as he analyzed it.
'There's no guard on this sword... a hole bored between hilt and blade... bronze surface etched with faded runes...' Alaric widened his eyes as he continued to analyze the sword. 'Ain't this!?'
'The Sword of Damokles!' Alaric internally exclaimed as he grinned in delight. 'Hehehe...'
Alaric turned around and began to slowly walk.
'Reuben's always preferred daggers,' Alaric mused, testing its weight. 'But this… he'd make it work.'
He shook his head from his thoughts and immediately sealed the sword in his tattoo.
Retracing his steps, he avoided the returning guards. In the garden, he scaled the wall again, pausing at the top to scan the courtyard. A snoring sentry below never stirred as Alaric dropped down, merging with the night.
By 3 a.m., he was three streets away, lighting a cigarette with a snap of his fingers. The palace remained undisturbed
(I knowwww... not much action, sorry lads.)
---
Morning light seeped through the tavern's windows as Reuben opened his eyes, now awake. He blinked at the ceiling, remnants of a dream lingering... Alaric and Thulani prancing in frilly gowns, laughing like drunk aristocrats.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, scrubbing his face.
He stretched as his joints cracked, before strapping his daggers to his forearms and tucking the throwing blades into hidden sheaths beneath his coat.
At the door, he nearly collided with a couple in embroidered silk, their fingers entwined as they drifted toward the stairs. Reuben glared after them.
"Get a room," he grumbled, then sighed. 'When's it my turn?'
Downstairs, the tavern was busy with clattering plates and murmured conversations.
He could see Alaric lounging at a corner table, a newspaper in one hand, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Steam curled from his coffee cup.
Reuben ignored him, signaling the harried keeper. "Coffee. Black." He fished two pence from his pouch and .'Ten pounds left... damn..'
He scowled when Alaric exhaled a smoke ring in his direction.
"You trying to choke me?" Reuben snapped.
Alaric grinned. "Apologies."
"Gimme some coin and I'll forgive you."
"Order whatever you like. My treat."
Reuben paused, skeptical. "Any food?"
"Knock yourself out."
A slow smirk spread across Reuben's face. He flagged the keeper again. "Coffee. Then eggs, bacon, sausages, two loaves of bread, and… a steak. Rare."
Alaric snorted. "Hungry, are we?"
"Of course," Reuben slid into the chair opposite of him, eyeing the newspaper headline about the "mysterious disappearances" in London. "It's eight in the morning 'Laric, you shouldn't smoke so much."
Alaric stubbed out his cigarette. "Sure..."
The keeper arrived with Reuben's coffee. As Alaric tossed a single pound onto the table... far too much for breakfast.... Reuben raised a brow but said nothing. The scent of sizzling meat soon wafted from the kitchen, and Alaric leaned back, smug. "Enjoying my generosity?"
Reuben sipped his coffee. "Shut up."
---
The docks of London sprawled before Alaric and Reuben the moment they arrived at 9 a.m., the docks were like a living maze. Noisy, restless, and soaked with the salty bite of the Thames.
Sailors heaved crates of tea and tobacco onto ships, while gulls were wheeling. Alaric and Reuben wove through the crowd, their boots creaking the weathered planks as the morning mist gave a cool ambiance on the surroundings.
Alaric stopped at a three-masted spanish galleon as its gangplank was crowded with passengers clutching trunks and children.
A flustered purser stood at a makeshift desk near the ramp, quill scratching frantically across a list as he double-checked names, fares, and cargo. Alaric approached as Reuben lingered nearby to watch a pair of laborers argue over a spilled barrel of ale.
"Where's this one headed?" Alaric asked, nodding at the ship.
The purser didn't glance up. "Portugal first. Then Barcino, Roma. Boarding now."
(Meaning: From London to Lisbon, then to Barceno (Barcelona), then to Roma (Rome))
"Cost for two?"
"Depends." The purser finally looked at him, assessing the quality of Alaric's clothes. "Great Cabin's private, with meals that are premium. Cabins share bunks. Steerage brings their own bedrolls and grub."
"Hmm... Great Cabin. To Roma."
The purser's quill paused. "£300 with meals, we also accept Reales, which would amount to nine thousand and six hundred reales."
Alaric reached into his cape, secretly producing a leather pouch. He tossed it onto the lectern. "Let's do pounds... we're at London, aren't we?"
[- £300]
[Current Balance: £46,704,596 6s. 5d.]
The purser stared at Alaric for a moment, then opened the pouch and counted the coins meticulously, lips moving soundlessly, before barking at a crewman. "Prepare the Great Cabin!"
"I don't want any registration... you've seen my face, right? We'll return shortly," Alaric said, turning away as the Purser raised a brow, then shook his head.
Reuben fell into step beside Alaric with an arched eyebrow. "Three hundred? Could've haggled."
Alaric shrugged. "Privacy's worth it. Unless you'd prefer bunking with snorers."
Reuben grimaced. "Point taken."
Around them, the docks hummed with urgency as ropes coiled and anchors weighed. Somewhere, a ship's bell tolled.
---
Alaric and Reuben were waiting just by the docks, waiting for a certain someone.
And who was it you may ask?
Well... it was none other than William Penn, who was pushing through the crowd. Messy hair, and wrinkled clothes. It was obvious that he just woke up, making Alaric chuckle.
Behind him were a couple of men, each one struggling to carry large, covered crates.
"Good morning, 'Laric, Reuben," Penn said with a yawn, rubbing his eyes.
Alaric nodded lazily and pointed at the crates. "I take it that's my cut?"
"Of course!" Penn grinned, then waved at the men behind him. "Drop 'em here, lads."
The poor guys practically dropped dead as soon as the crates hit the planks. They groaned, rolled their shoulders, and stretched like they'd just carried a mountain.
Alaric crouched and popped open the corner of one crate.
He peeked inside. His lips curled up.
"Hey Penn," he said, eyes still on the coins, "wanna see sorcery?"
Penn blinked. "Huh? What?"
Even Reuben raised a brow. "What're you on about?"
Still smirking, Alaric channeled a bit of chakra into his eyes.
'Kronos.'
Time froze as the breeze stopped. Gulls paused mid-flight, and the dock fell dead silent.
Alaric looked around, grinning. Reuben and Penn were both frozen in place, their eyebrows still halfway up, making him chuckle.
'Man, I wish cameras existed right now… missed opportunity.'
He reached into the crate and casually tapped the money.
[+ £5000]
[Current Balance: £46,709,596 6s. 5d.]
"…Bruh. He took half?"
Alaric glared at Penn for a solid second, then sighed.
"Whatever."
Deactivating his Sharingan, the world jerked back into motion.
"…"
"…"
"Hello?" Penn tilted his head, confused. "What sorcery were you about to show me?"
Alaric stood up, brushing off his hands. "Check the crate."
"Huh? What do y—" Penn crouched down, peeled back the cover, and blinked.
His mouth dropped open.
"What the— Haaah!?"
Alaric burst into laughter.
Reuben's eyes widened too, clearly confused as hell, while Penn looked between Alaric and the now-empty crate.
"Where did it—" He started, then gave up halfway. "You know what… It's your money anyway."
"What's with that defeated tone?" Alaric raised a brow, hands on his hips.
Penn just waved him off. "Yeah, yeah… whatever. Anyway... I'm in a bit of in a hurry, so..."
He stepped forward and extended a hand, a small smile on his face.
"I'll see you both soon. Stay alive, alright?"
Alaric took his hand. Reuben followed right after.
"You stay alive too, William."
"Oh?" Penn smirked. "That's the first time you've called me by name."
"Adios!" He turned and walked off, waving lazily over his shoulder.
Alaric and Reuben stayed there a moment, watching his back disappear into the crowd.
Then, Alaric looked at Reuben.
"Let's go?"
"Let's."
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