To believe is to live. / GAMER

Ezio knew he was on the brink of failure. He realized this as he felt weakness in his shoulder and, gasping, he swayed. The sword slipped from his hands as he grasped an arrow that was half-buried in his shoulder. He watched the scene in disbelief, time seemingly slowing down. He didn't even suspect that there were archers at all. He gritted his teeth, his fingers drenched in blood. Soldiers were weaving dangerous patterns with their weapons, attacking and retreating.

The assassin fought like a wild beast, no matter if he was exhausted or injured. He was a problem, there was no doubt about it. Stefano Reggio cursed as he watched his men perish. The bastard was covered in blood from head to toe, wielding glimmering blades that seemed to emerge from nowhere. If Stefano had known less, he would have said that the assassin was using magic. But what kind of magic could a man possess who was stumbling and bleeding, gasping with every strike? He was mortal. And on this Christmas day, he would die.

Ezio struggled to attack the heavily armed man, and the unimaginable pain in his shoulder made him want to scream. The arrow hindered his movements, tearing at the muscles when he used his arm. His whole body shook with fatigue and had finally reached its limits. He knew he was losing this small battle as well. He was just too tired... He couldn't do it.

badly hurt

But he had to try. He couldn't just retreat. Altair wouldn't have done that. Giovanni wouldn't have either. The anger that awakened at the memory of his father gave him strength, briefly filling his tired body with energy again. He had to use this short respite wisely.

He retreated under the weight of the bouncer and rolled back, trying to ignore the pain in his shoulder. He kicked the man in the solar plexus, suddenly staggering him with an unexpected maneuver. Ezio heard the dull whistle of air escaping the lungs of his opponent and quickly, like a snake, drove the hidden blade from his wounded arm into the man's belly, cutting off his scream in its infancy. The assassin pushed the fallen enemy away, but the disturbed shard of the arrow sent a new wave of pain throughout his body. For a moment, his vision went dark, but he quickly recovered; blood-soaked, the short blade sliced through flesh, leather, and even metal armor. He pushed aside all concerns, all memories, all needs... except one: to kill. To take the lives of those who threatened his existence, those who would take his life without a second thought. Killing was pleasurable; it reminded him of life: he was still alive, and only when he couldn’t see anything beyond this veil would he be overcome. They would have to tear him apart to stop him.

Stefano assessed the assassin while everyone caught their breath, taking advantage of the temporary calm. Half-dead, half-injured – either way, the young rogue was undoubtedly a problem. Now Stefano could only admit that he had underestimated him: although the assassin was alone, he fought like an army, every detail was controlled, every accident planned. And those blades in his hands... Like the stings of a scorpion. If only they weren’t poisoned. Indeed, a dangerous source of income. The Florentine government had withheld a lot when hiring his group to capture this guy. There were many things they hadn’t told him. Things he discovered on his own. He would probably need to demand a higher price for the assassin’s head upon his return. However, he could just bring him in alive. Let the clients deal with the guy themselves: after all, he was just a bounty hunter – half of his men were already dead, which didn’t help his plans at all. Unlike the option of reducing losses. Shoving a live, albeit wounded, enemy onto these idiots who managed to kill his family and forgot to include him on the target list seemed like a good idea. He would get less money, but his men would survive. He wanted answers to some questions. A week of fighting was enough.

Ezio

Time was needed to think. For that, it was necessary to calm the assassin down. He turned around and signaled.

Ezio did not hear the throwing of nets or the sound of men descending the wall on ropes to bind him. He fought desperately, knowing that this battle was lost. They had caught him and were now going to kill him, but at least he had fought back decently.

“Enough, assassin! I don’t want to kill you.”

At first, Ezio didn’t hear those words. And he didn’t believe it when the persistent voice said them again. He growled like a beast in a cage when he managed to slash the net. Two men brought him down to the ground, one kneeing him in the back, the other sitting on his legs, pressing him down with all his weight. Ezio thrashed, growling.

“I said,” the voice repeated, now more quietly, and Ezio heard the sound of approaching footsteps, “that I need you alive, assassin.”

Ezio breathed heavily, feeling every wound now, foremost the arrow in his shoulder, which was now broken, but the shard had embedded itself deep, almost to the bone. He remained silent. The situation was too strange. Normally, Templar mercenaries didn’t go for small talk – just to kill him as soon as possible.

“And why would you need that, bastard?” he said with a sneer. His head was grabbed from behind and yanked upward, forcing him to hiss curses that echoed through the empty cathedral. The new pain seemed trivial compared to the one he already had.

“Ah, ah,” the lightly armed man leaning over him shook his head. “You really think you’re special. Once a nobleman – always a nobleman.” He squatted down, smelling of old liquor and oily polish – a nasty combination at any time. “Your head is worth a lot in Florence. But you already know that. I saw the posters you ripped off. Oh, yes,” he chuckled, hearing the angry growl of the man sprawled on the ground, and signaled for the one holding him to loosen his grip. Ezio lowered his head, and the man continued, “I know about you, Ezio Auditore, nobleman and assassin. You turned out to be an intriguing subject of study. A father executed for treason – but in reality, merely unjustly accused. Just a scapegoat. And you, his son, vowed to take revenge. For the last few years, you’ve hunted those who tried to cover up their mistakes by shifting the blame onto your father. They overlooked you, the reckless younger son. Impressive.”

Ezio calmed down, and he was carefully lifted to his feet. He winced, feeling new pain in his shoulder. This was still his greatest concern – right after the surprise at how much this man knew about him. Perhaps he was a bounty hunter, but that didn’t make him a fool.

“Who are you? You seem to know more about me than even friends do,” he said provocatively, holding his head high. The net wouldn’t allow even a twitch. Better to leave things as they were for now.

“Ah,” the man stopped pacing and looked into the deep hood of the assassin. “That’s a good question.” Slightly smiling and with his hands behind his back, he approached the assassin, looking him in the eyes, studying him. Ezio remained calm. He was used to being stared at. “And here’s another good question: what comes next? As you can see, you’re still alive. I was ordered to kill you. But along the way, I started asking myself some questions. Oh, why did I and my group need to catch this young man? I didn’t receive enough information necessary to carry out this task and took it only because it paid well. The fools in high ranks of the Florentine government underestimated you. A dangerous oversight in itself; half of my men have died. I probably ought to kill you myself for that, without anyone’s help.”

Stefano

Ezio curled his lips into a smirk. “Do what you want,” he said in a deadly calm tone. “They won’t pay any more if you drag me in alive. They’ll make you an example for the others – posthumously. Because they fear both me and those who are even slightly connected with me. Decide now,” he leaned forward despite the net and the men holding his hands. “Decide while I’m not recovered from the fight with you.”

A dead silence fell. The two men looked at each other. Ezio breathed through his nostrils, every muscle calm and tense, each heartbeat making his ribs creak. The other man did not break eye contact. He’s good, Ezio decided. Worthy of admiration. Strong character.

Finally, the man smiled and laughed, but not in a dismissive way.

“Oh, hot-blooded youth. For this alone, I’m ready to let you live. I propose a deal. You will have time to think while we head to our camp in Verona.” He waited for confirmation that his words were acknowledged before continuing. “You are a master, assassin. A great master. But you cannot fight these people alone. You need allies. We bounty hunters work anywhere and at any time, and we can offer invaluable help in gathering information. But for that, I would like to know more about the people you’re fighting against. And our fee would not be unnecessary.”

Ezio just stared at him for a while. He was so taken aback by this offer that he couldn’t say anything. Then the man signaled, and he felt the grip of those holding him loosen. He would have fallen, but his pride wouldn’t allow his legs to buckle.

“You demand much and offer even more. An alliance, your services, and your men. But if we want to establish trust between us, first tell me about yourself. Your name. You know mine and those of my close ones. This cannot be a one-sided deal.”

The man nodded briefly, acknowledging the point.

“I agree.” He extended his hand to shake the assassin’s wet palm, and the latter responded to the handshake with all the strength he had left. “I am Stefano Reggio, a bounty hunter formerly in the service of the Republic of Florence. Now I’m looking for a new employer.”

The man had a light attitude toward life and a sense of humor that even a tired and wounded Ezio couldn’t deny. It was contagious. He felt the corners of his lips twitch in a reciprocating smile.

“That’s quite enough,” he slowly said, closing his eyes as his body realized that the danger had passed and now he could rest. He swayed and felt someone holding him again, but this time it was a friendly grip, not the embrace of death. “For the time being.”

“I love it when they have character, don’t I?” Stefano said, rubbing his hands, directing his words to no one in particular. “Bring in the stretcher. And get the arrow out of him. Now he’s our employer. Or is that good?”

Ezio couldn’t help but shake his head. This man never lost his composure. Apparently, he always had the last word. And as for Ezio, he had run out of last words. His legs buckled when they removed the net from him, and he slid into the saving darkness of oblivion.

Translation: mine (and the first, so no kicking, by the way). With immense gratitude to Soth for proofreading, editing, and invaluable assistance, as well as Surt for help in translating one extremely convoluted pearl.

To believe is to live.

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