[Current Balance: £2,733,571 15s. 11d.]
---
Evening had settled over Glastonbury. The streets were quieter now, the busyness of the day giving way to the calm of night.
Alaric, was inside a local pub, seated at a corner table with a tankard of ale untouched in front of him. 'Should I drink this? I mean... Hashirama's Physique does counter the effects of alcohol...'
The room was lit dimly, and the air was thick with the scent of beer and wood smoke. A handful of patrons sat scattered around, murmuring among themselves, their voices blending into a low hum.
Alaric's attention, then change from the was elsewhere. His eyes were focused on the translucent blue screen of his System Interface, which floated before him.
He drank a little of the ale and it was surprisingly good! 'Damn... this taste good!'
(It really doesn't, I've drank many types of alcohol... none of them taste good.)
Chugging every bit of the ale, Alaric calmly placed the tankard on top of the table as he burped. 'I might get addicted to this...'
Satisfied, he looked at the System Interface once more and scrolled through the options, occasionally pausing to consider a purchase. But as he browsed, a commotion broke out across the room.
"Oi! Give me another drink, ya stingy wench!"
Alaric's eyes flicked upward. A burly, red-faced drunkard was slamming his empty tankard on the bar while his voice was loud and slurred. The bartender, a middle-aged man with a weary expression, shook his head firmly.
"You've had enough, Thomas. Go home."
The drunkard's face twisted into a scowl. "Home? Home!? I'll show you home!"
He grabbed a nearby stool and hurled it across the room. The patrons ducked, and the stool shattered against the wall. The drunkard then overturned a table, sending mugs and plates crashing to the floor. The room erupted into chaos as the other patrons scrambled to avoid him.
'Why do people act like that when drunk? Che...' Alaric sighed, his patience wearing thin. He calmly stood up and walked towards the drunk man. The drunkard turned to him, his eyes bloodshot and wild.
"Who the hell are you, huh? You lookin' for a fight?" he roared, stumbling toward Alaric.
Alaric didn't respond and simply stepped forward. The drunkard swung a clumsy fist, but Alaric parried it with the back of his hand lightly.
"Pathetic," Alaric muttered.
With a single, precise back-handed slap to the jaw, the drunkard crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
The room fell silent.
The pub owner hurried over, his expression a mix of relief and gratitude. "Y-You have my gratitude, young man. That drunken fool has been causing trouble all night."
Alaric shrugged, his tone indifferent. "No problem. He needed to calm down."
The pub owner hesitated, his expression growing uneasy. "But... that man, Thomas. He's a member of an infamous group of highwaymen. They're dangerous. If they find out you knocked him out..."
Alaric's smirk returned, his crimson eyes glinting. "Let them come. I'm not worried."
The pub owner stared at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "You're a brave one, aren't you? Still, be careful. Those men don't take kindly to being slighted."
Alaric waved a hand dismissively. "I'll keep that in mind."
He tossed a few coins onto the counter for the untouched ale and headed for the door.
[- 3d.]
[Current Balance: £2,733,571 15s. 8d.]
Outside, the breeze from the wind greeted him. The streets were mostly empty, save for a few stragglers heading home.
Alaric walked briskly, his hands in his pockets as he moved away from the populated areas.
When he reached the edge of town, confirming that no one was watching, he leaped effortlessly onto the nearest tree branch, his movements swift and fluid. The branches creaked softly under his weight as he began to move through the forest, leaping from tree to tree with ease.
'I bet Reuben and the others haven't arrived at Swindon yet,' he thought, his smirk widening. 'They'll be so surprised to see me there.'
The thought amused him. He could already picture their faces... Reuben's shock, and Penn's amused face.
His pace quickened, the wind whipping through his hair as he pushed his speed. The trees blurred past him, their branches shaking as he leaped from one to the next.
'It's nice to travel like this...' he mused, his crimson eyes scanning the path ahead. 'Feels good to let loose.'
The night stretched on, and Alaric continued his journey, a lone figure cutting through the darkness with purpose.
---
Alaric arrived at Swindon minutes later.
The town was quiet, its streets empty and the moon was the only thing to give it some light.
Compared to Bristol, it was smaller... about half its size, but it had a certain charm, even in the stillness of the night.
Landing silently on the roof of a building, he surveyed the area for a moment before gracefully jumping down to the street below.
His boots barely made a sound as they touched the cobblestones. He straightened his clothes and began to roam the town, his eyes scanning the area for a place to stay.
It didn't take long for him to find a suitable inn. The building was somewhat large, its wooden sign, "The Rusty Horseshoe", creaking softly due to the breeze.
He pushed the door open and stepped into the inn. The common room was cozy, with a fire crackling in the hearth and a few patrons seated at tables, nursing their drinks. The air smelled of wood smoke and ale, same with the pub at Glastonbury.
The innkeeper, a stout man with a bushy mustache, looked up from behind the counter as Alaric approached. "Evening, sir. Need a room?"
Alaric nodded, his tone calm. "For two days.."
The innkeeper pulled out a ledger and flipped it open. "That'll be four shillings. Includes breakfast in the morning."
Alaric reached into his pocket and placed the coins on the counter. "Sounds fair."
[- 4s.]
[Current Balance: £2,733,571 11s. 8d.]
The innkeeper gestured to a young boy who was barely a teenager that loitered nearby. "Boy, show our guest to room three."
The boy hurried over, nodding eagerly. "Right this way, sir."
Alaric followed the boy up a narrow staircase, his boots creaking on the wooden steps.
As they walked, Alaric studied the boy. He was skinny, his clothes hanging loosely on his frame, but he had a lively energy about him.
"How old are you?" Alaric asked casually.
"Fourteen, sir," the boy replied, his voice tinged with pride.
Alaric nodded, his expression unreadable. "You work here full-time?"
The boy's enthusiasm dimmed slightly. "Aye, sir. My da passed last year, so I've been helping out to earn some coin."
Alaric didn't respond immediately. They reached the door to room three, and the boy unlocked it, stepping aside to let Alaric in. The room was simple but clean, with a bed, a small table, and a window overlooking the street.
Alaric stepped inside, then turned to the boy. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pound, holding it out to him. "Here. For your trouble."
[- £1.]
[Current Balance: £2,733,570 11s. 8d.]
The boy's eyes widened. "S-sir, I can't—"
"Take it," Alaric said, his tone firm but not unkind. "And don't tell the owner. He might just take it from you."
The boy hesitated, then took the coin with a shaky hand. "Thank you, sir. Truly. This... this is four years of my annual salary..."
Alaric nodded. "Go get some rest. You've earned it."
The boy gave him a grateful smile before scurrying away. Alaric closed the door behind him and locked it.
Alaric took a moment to survey the room. It was small but adequate for the night.
He stripped off his shirt, folding them neatly on the table. Then, he stepped into the center of the room and formed a quick hand sign.
'Suiton: Full Bathing Jutsu.'
Water materialized around him, swirling gently as it cleaned his body. The coolness was refreshing, and Alaric closed his eyes, letting the water wash away the dirt he accumulated today. When he was done, the water disappeared, leaving him feeling refreshed.
Next, he focused on his clothes. 'Suiton: Laundry Jutsu...'
With another hand sign, and the water reappeared, this time enveloping his garments. The dirt and sweat were washed away in moments, leaving the clothes clean and dry. Alaric dressed quickly, then sat on the edge of the bed.
His gaze drifted to the window, where the moon shined a soft glow into the room. His thoughts turned to the future, his eyes reflecting the light as he pondered.
'It's currently 1712,' he thought, leaning back against the bedframe. 'Queen Anne Stuart will die in 1714. If I were to make a deal with her now, the new monarch could easily break it and continue Bristol's slave trading system. I can't allow that.'
He closed his eyes, letting the weight of the situation sink in. After a moment, he opened them again, his expression resolute.
'Since Penn is close to the queen, I can have him invite her to a dinner. A drop of my blood in her drink should ensure she doesn't die of any type of diseases.'
It may have been creepy to make someone drink ones blood, but it was necessary this time.
'Being discreet would be easy...' he thought. 'For now, I'll focus on the task at hand.'
With that, he stretched out on the bed, his body relaxing into the mattress. Today's event was interesting... and sleep came quickly.
The room fell silent, save for the soft sound of his breathing.
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