---
The news of the British defeat at Chesapeake Bay and New York spread across the globe like a wildfire. It was not just a naval victory; it was a geopolitical earthquake.
The largest expeditionary force in the history of the British Empire had been not just defeated, but utterly annihilated. Humiliation was an understatement.
Britain's mercantile control in the New World was severed, its global prestige shattered, and a significant portion of its naval power now rested at the bottom of the sea or was captured in Pennmere's ports.
The Pennmere Gazette, no longer just a colonial paper but a voice of a new world power, made sure every corner of the globe knew of the triumph.
'THE PENNMERE GAZETTE
NAVAL VICTORY OF THE AGE!
Twenty Thousand Soldiers of Britain and Her Allies Swept from the Seas
Word has reached every corner of our Commonwealth: the mighty fleet of Britain, bolstered by her Allies, numbering near twenty thousand fighting men, has been utterly overthrown by the Naval Forces of The Holy Commonwealth of Pennmere.
The engagement, which began at dawn, was concluded before the setting of the sun. Not a single hostile vessel remains upon the waters; all were sunk, seized, or scattered to the winds. Our ships, under the gallant direction of the Admiralty, have secured a triumph unparalleled in the annals of history.
Pennmere Banner Flies Over the Isles
With the defeat of this armada, Jamaica, Barbados, and all remaining colonies of Britain in these seas have passed into the dominion of The Holy Commonwealth of Pennmere. The Union Flag of the Crown has been lowered, never to rise again in these waters, and in its stead our Commonwealth's ensign now waves proudly in every harbour.
A Blow from Which Britain May Never Recover?
Merchants and ministers in London are said to be in dismay, the Admiralty shamed, the Treasury strained beyond measure. A question now stirs in every coffee-house and counting-room across the globe: How shall Britain recover from so grievous a loss?
Printed and sold by Edward Carver at the Sign of the Quill and Inkwell, Second Street, Philadelphia. 23rd of July, 1715.'
Edward Kenway read the words, a slow, disbelieving chuckle escaping his lips. He took a long swig of rum, the cheap, fiery liquid doing little to quell the triumphant, almost giddy feeling in his chest.
He was in a rowdy tavern in Havana, the air filled with the smell of sweat and spilled liquor, but his mind was a thousand miles away, with his family, with the impossible nation they were building.
'Damn,' he thought, a proud grin spreading across his face. 'They've really done it.'
"E-Edward?" Stede Bonnet's nervous voice broke through his reverie. The portly merchant, who had taken it upon himself to fund Edward's drinking habits, was wringing his hands anxiously. "I'll be going back to the ship now. Would you… would you mind accompanying me?"
Edward looked at Stede, at his fine, out-of-place clothes and his perpetually worried expression. He sighed. "I have things to do, Stede. I'll come see you soon."
"Ah… okay, alright then."
Edward watched the merchant scurry away, then turned back to his rum, his thoughts returning to his own mission. Governor Torres. The Templars. 'I still have things to do,' he thought, a new, fierce determination hardening his features. 'I got to be quick 'bout it. I want to see my daughter soon.'
---
The Holy Commonwealth of Pennmere was, to put it mildly, busy.
The news of the victory had been a clarion call. People from all over the world, hearing tales of a new land of opportunity, of a city where food was cheap and prosperity was not just a dream but a reality, began to arrive in droves.
The population of the former thirteen colonies, which had hovered around five hundred thousand, exploded, doubling to a staggering one million in a matter of months.
Philadelphia, the heart of this new nation, was the epicenter of the boom. And at the center of Philadelphia's prosperity was the Celestial brand. The Celestial Bank, once a strange curiosity, was now a vital necessity, its branches spreading to every major city in Pennmere.
Alaric sat in a quiet, private lounge in the main branch in Philadelphia, sipping a cup of Celestial Tea and reading the same newspaper Edward was reading in Havana. He allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
"Ah, Master Kenway," a man in a crisp banker's uniform said, bowing slightly. "If you please, follow me."
Alaric nodded and followed the man through a series of heavily guarded corridors, deeper and deeper into the heart of the bank. They arrived at a massive, circular vault door, its surface a seamless expanse of polished steel with only a small, unadorned handle.
The banker placed his palm flat on the handle. There was no visible mechanism, no scanner, but with a soft, internal click, the handle began to turn on its own, the massive vault door swinging open silently.
Inside, the vault was a vast, circular chamber. In the center, on a marble pedestal, sat a single, massive leather-bound ledger. The banker retrieved it with both hands, his movements reverent, and presented it to Alaric. "The quarterly earnings report, Master Kenway."
"Thanks," Alaric smiled. "Leave me be for a moment."
"Yes, sir." The banker bowed and departed, the vault door sealing shut behind him.
Alaric opened the ledger, his eyes scanning the columns of numbers, the reports from every branch, every contract, every sale from the Celestial Mall. 'Damn,' he thought, a flicker of genuine surprise passing through him. 'I'm fucking rich. Overwhelmingly so. And the products haven't even sold out yet.'
He closed the ledger and formed a single hand seal. The empty vault around him seemed to shimmer, the very air distorting as a powerful fuinjutsu activated. And then, the money appeared.
It wasn't a trickle; it was a flood. Gold and silver coins from a dozen different nations materialized from thin air, pouring into the vault in a glittering, clattering torrent. Pounds, reales, doubloons, florins… the combined physical currency from every Celestial Bank branch in Pennmere, all drawn here by the master seal.
Alaric waded into the sea of money, a wide, almost manic grin on his face. He began to touch it, his hands sweeping through the piles of gold and silver, not leaving a single coin untouched. It was a tedious process, but a necessary one. With every touch, the physical currency was absorbed, converted into the digital balance of his System.
[+ £1,110,690,0695s.2d.]
[Current Balance: £1,820,437,815 10s. 10d.]
"..."
"..."
"...Hahaha."
"...HAHAHAHAHA!"
A wild, unrestrained laugh echoed in the silent, money-filled vault. He was a billionaire. In 1715. It was absurd. It was glorious. He felt a little stupid, laughing alone in a vault, and forced himself to stop, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart.
He sighed, shaking his head at his own ridiculousness. Then, his eyes began to glow, the familiar, three-tomoe pattern of the Sharingan spinning into the intricate, geometric design of his Eternal Mangekyo.
"Vulcan!" he exclaimed, a note of pure, childish glee in his voice.
The process reversed. The money began to reappear, not drawn from other vaults, but created from nothing. Perfect, flawless duplicates of every coin he had just absorbed, forged from raw energy by the power of his eyes.
"Damn," he murmured, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. "That took more chakra than I thought."
He stood for a moment, catching his breath, then activated the fuinjutsu again. The mountains of newly created money vanished, sent back through the network of seals to the exact branches from which their originals had been drawn.
'Welp, I'm done here,' he thought, a satisfied smirk on his face as he walked towards the now-empty vault's exit.
August 1, 1715 --- A month Later…
The grounds of Kenway Keep were alive with the sound of celebration. Torches and lanterns cast a warm, golden glow over the immaculate gardens, illuminating the hundreds of guests who had gathered to commemorate the victory of the Holy Commonwealth of Pennmere. The air was filled with music, laughter, and the rich aroma of a grand feast.
This was a party of the new world's elite. Generals in their dress uniforms mingled with shrewd merchants in their finest silks. Landowners from Virginia chatted amiably with shipwrights from Boston. It was a gathering of the powerful, the influential, the architects of a new nation, all brought together under one roof.
Bernard and Leonard Kenway held court near a crackling bonfire, regaling a group of captivated delegates with embellished tales of their farming days, their tankards of ale never empty.
Reuben and Thulani stood off to the side, a quiet island of calm in the sea of celebration, smoking their cigars and observing the crowd with the watchful eyes of captains.
The women, a radiant constellation of beauty and strength, had their own circle. Eleanor, Linette, Caroline, and Aveline laughed and conversed, their conversation a light, easy counterpoint to the more serious discussions of the men.
High above it all, on the grand balcony of the master bedroom, Alaric and Kassandra watched the scene unfold. In Kassandra's arms, their son, Charles Hunter Kenway, was a small, warm bundle, his amber eyes wide as he took in the lights and sounds.
"Uwaa!" Charles giggled, his tiny hand reaching out as Alaric playfully tweaked his nose. Kassandra chuckled, her heart swelling with a love so profound it was almost painful.
-
Down below, William Penn moved through the crowd, a glass of wine in one hand, a Celestial Cigar in the other. He was the king of this new nation, a title that still felt strange and heavy on his shoulders. He had argued with Alaric for weeks, insisting the younger man should take the crown, but Alaric had been immovable. 'I just want a quiet life,' he'd said, a statement so absurdly at odds with the man's reality that Penn could only shake his head.
"Congratulations, Señor Penn."
Penn turned to see the familiar, smiling face of the Viceroy of New Spain. "Ah, Señor Alencastre," he greeted warmly. "A pleasure to see you here."
"Sí, Señor," Fernando de Alencastre nodded, his eyes twinkling. "I admit, The Holy Commonwealth of Pennmere is even more powerful than I thought."
Penn just smiled, accepting the compliment with a gracious nod. The victory had spoken for itself.
"Ah, lo lamento," Fernando's eyes widened slightly, as if he'd just remembered something. "Let me introduce you to a friend of mine. An ally of New Spain, and hopefully, an ally of Pennmere in the future." He gestured to a man who had been standing quietly beside him. "Please… meet the Governor General of New France, Philippe de Rigaud, Marquis de Vaudreuil!"
Penn's eyebrows rose. He turned to face the newcomer, an old man with a shock of white hair and the shrewd, intelligent eyes of a seasoned diplomat. He looked frail, but he carried himself with an undeniable aura of power, his dark, royalty-adjacent robe a statement of his station.
"Un plaisir to meet you, Monsieur Penn," Philippe de Rigaud said, his voice a smooth, cultured baritone. He gave a slight, formal bow. "Louanges au roi de Pennmere." (Praises to the king of Pennmere.)
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Governor General Rigaud," Penn replied, his own French passable.
"Uh, Monsieur Penn, if I may ask," Philippe smiled, his curiosity evident, "Vous êtes le roi, non? Why have this fête at the mansion of your apprenti, and not your own?" (You are the king, no? Why have this party at the mansion of your apprentice, and not your own?)
Penn chuckled, understanding the question perfectly. He pointed up towards the balcony, where the figures of Alaric and Kassandra were silhouetted against the night sky. "Because that lad and his family know how to throw a party. I do not."
"...I see," Philippe said, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "Well, may we have a conversation later?"
"Yes," Penn nodded, a knowing smile on his face. "Let's."
-
"Hahahaha," Charles was still laughing, his small body shaking with glee as his father continued to make funny faces.
"'Laric, agápi mou," Kassandra began, her voice a soft murmur as she looked out at the celebrating crowd below. "You've achieved something no one has done before."
"Hm?" Alaric turned his head, his playful expression softening as he looked at her. "Yes?"
"You are one of the founding fathers of this country. You destroyed an entire fleet on your own," she continued, her voice filled with a quiet awe. "You have wealth no one can comprehend. You have a son. What's next for you?"
"..."
"..."
Alaric stared into her eyes for a long moment, then turned his gaze back to the crowd below, though he wasn't really seeing them. "I'll be honest with you," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't know."
He struggled for the words, a rare flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "I have this ability… I mean… like…"
"Agápi mou, calm down," Kassandra smiled, reaching up with her free hand to gently caress his cheek. "Just say what's on your mind. I will no longer be surprised by your abilities."
"..." Alaric looked at her, at the absolute trust and love in her eyes, and let out a long, slow breath. "Damn… okay. I… I can travel to a world that's different from here."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"...Wow," Kassandra's eyes didn't even widen. Her expression was one of profound, thoughtful calm. Another world. It was a concept so vast, so terrifying, that it almost looped back around to being… understandable. Of course he could. "A-Another world, you say? What is this world?"
"It's a world filled with people that can use abilities like us," he explained, his voice still low. "Chakra."
"...Okay," Kassandra nodded slowly, processing. "Where is this other world?"
"I don't know. All I know is that I can travel there," he admitted. "I've been testing it, trying to understand how it works. I think… I think there's a way for it to be possible now."
"And… and what's keeping you from going there?"
Her question made Alaric look up at the star-filled sky, then back down at the party. He saw Penn, a king, laughing with his new allies. He saw Reuben and Thulani, his brothers, standing guard even in a time of celebration. He saw his family, happy, safe, prosperous. He looked down at the sleeping baby in Kassandra's arms, then back into her eyes.
"If I go there, I can come back," he said, a weak smile on his face. "But I don't know if there's any… time dilation. I don't know if a day there is a year here, or more." His voice dropped, thick with an emotion he rarely showed. "I'd miss so much. I'd miss our little Charles' first steps, his first words. I'd miss our time together. I can't imagine leaving you."
"..."
"..."
A quiet, profound silence settled between them, a small, intimate bubble in the midst of the loud celebration. Kassandra smiled, a few happy tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "I never knew you thought that far ahead."
"..."
"However," she continued, her smile turning into a familiar, challenging smirk. "If you have been given such an ability, there must be a reason. Maybe that is your purpose."
Alaric shook his head immediately. "Nah. If that's my purpose… leaving you and Charles, our family… I'd rather reject it and never go."
"You have the ability to come back anytime, right?" she asked, a thoughtful look on her face. "How about you go to that other world and come back immediately? See how things go? Surely the time dilation wouldn't be that much for a few seconds."
Alaric was at a loss for words. "Why are you trying to let me go? Are you tired of me?"
"Yes, I'm tired of you always shoving that sword in me," she joked, then, seeing the flicker of hurt in his eyes, she leaned in and kissed his forehead. "I'm sorry, hehe. No. I'm just saying you need to test the waters. You never know, maybe you can bring me and Charles there one day."
"Yeah, no," Alaric shook his head instantly, images of Madara and the Otsutsuki flashing through his mind. "That would be a terrible idea."
"...Just test it out," Kassandra smirked, her eyes sparkling with a familiar, competitive fire. "I thought you were a man? My man? I can't have such a weak-minded husband."
"..." Alaric couldn't help but pout. "Fine. I'll check it out. Soon."
"Good," she nodded, a satisfied smile on her face. "You are a warrior who does not die, for you are immortal. So do not fear."
"Yes, yes," Alaric sighed, but then a mischievous glint returned to his own eyes. "How 'bout you let this warrior use his sword on you tonight? A little sparring session in bed…"
"Ughhh," Kassandra groaned, but she couldn't hide the blush that rose on her cheeks. "Maláka..."
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