The Restoration of Rome: In the Name of Augustus

Chapter 95 The Old Man in the Mountains

When Almorin awoke again, he was in the sanctuary of Masyardburg.

The sanctuary, located at the highest point of the castle, is a circular domed building with a ceiling inlaid with a sacred Nizari star map made of gemstones. A huge seven-pointed star carpet, symbolizing the seven Imams of the Ismaili sect, is laid out in the center of the room.

Although his mind was still muddled and his vision was blurry, Almorin quickly knelt down, prostrated himself on the cold stone ground, his forehead pressed against the ground, awaiting judgment.

Across from Almorin, Rashiddin Sinan slowly turned around.

The "Old Man of the Mountain" was tall and thin, like a rock sculpted by time and faith. His face was a mirror image of Almorin's, but upon closer inspection, Sinan's features were more profound, and his temperament was completely different.

The old man's deep wrinkles were as dense as the runes on the Ismaili scriptures. His eyes were bright and piercing, like two tempered obsidian stones that gleamed in the dim light. It seemed as if the seven Imams of the Ismaili sect were hidden deep in his pupils. The moment believers touched them, they would collapse to the ground, unable to look directly at them.

Sinan wore a seemingly simple white robe, but the hem was embroidered with intricate star charts and ancient scripts in silver thread. Over the white robe was a black cloak, with a six-pointed star emblem pinned to the collar—a sacred relic of Hassan ibn Sabah when he founded the Assassins, symbolizing the unity of the visible and invisible worlds.

His fingers were as thin as eagle claws, and he wore a ring inlaid with an emerald on the ring finger of his right hand.

The more Sinan remained silent, the more terrified Almorin became. He slammed his head heavily onto the ground, his five fingers trembling violently as he braced himself against it.

Sinan looked down at Almorin expressionlessly and spoke slowly, his voice deep and hoarse. If Farouk were here, he would be utterly shocked—the two voices were indistinguishable.

"Nothing is true, everything is permitted. My shadow, how is the matter of Berthesian progressing?"

Almorin broke out in a cold sweat: "Reporting to His Majesty, my mission is unfinished. The fortifications and defenses of Beitsheian exceeded my expectations. Their early warning system, neither bell nor whistle, is completely silent; I have never heard of anything like it in my life, and thus I inadvertently attracted the guards. The grain piles in the granary, which should have been the best cover for the Assassins to perform their Leap of Faith, were secretly concealed there, and someone stabbed me with a pitchfork. While in hiding, I was also chased by my former disciple from Egypt, who was wearing a Frankish white robe and working for the Franks..."

As he spoke, Sinan tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest of his seat. The tapping stopped abruptly when he heard "neither bell nor whistle," "pitchfork," and "disciple."

"Unexpected...neither bell nor whistle...a pitchfork? A disciple?" Sinan pondered the information Almorin had gleaned, his voice devoid of emotion. "The Frankish king is gravely ill, internal strife is rampant, Reynald is arrogant, and Guy is mediocre. When did they acquire such foresight, accurately predicting the Assassins' movements, using our habits to set traps, and even...turning the Assassins' loyal followers, whom they've nurtured and educated since childhood, to the enemy?"

He stood up, walked down the steps, his black robe trailing on the ground, and remained silent. He stopped in front of Almorin, his cold gaze sweeping over the other's wounds.

"Who is it?" Sinan spoke quickly, pacing beside Almorin. "Who has such ability? Is it Baron Bertheschae, that young yet shrewd man, Guillaume de Saint-Eume? Or Baldwin IV, that leper king who, though afflicted with a terrible disease, possessed extraordinary wisdom?"

Almorin took a deep breath: "Your Majesty, after much deliberation, I have ruled out these two. Guillaume is merely a baron, granted the title of Beith-Séance based on the prestige of his father and brother, and was previously unknown. The King of Jerusalem, though wise, is frail with illness and his energy is focused on balancing the princes within his kingdom; he has neither the strength nor the time to undertake such a meticulous plan. Moreover, if he could do it, he would have done it long ago; why wait until now? I suspect... it is someone else."

"speak."

"The Crown Prince of Jerusalem, Lyon," Almorin said confidently. "This boy is only ten years old. He appeared out of nowhere in the Jerusalem court two years ago and was immediately named heir by the King of Jerusalem. His origins are a mystery; he claims to be from Constantinople. More importantly, after his appearance, the Kingdom of Jerusalem has seen some changes in military fortification, commercial taxation, and even intelligence gathering—changes that are quite different from the past. The timing is perfect."

"Ten years old..." A genuine look of surprise flashed in Sinan's eyes for the first time, but it was quickly replaced by deeper contemplation. He turned to look at the huge map of the Levant region on the wall. "A child... that's certainly unexpected. But in our line of work, age is never a measure of threat. Almorin, at that age, you were already a blood-stained blade. Continue."

"My subordinates and Saladin collaborated on an investigation into his background, and all the clues pointed to Constantinople. Two years ago, he was kidnapped by a group of pirates who mistook him for a Roman prince and took him to Alexandria for ransom. Coincidentally, the Egyptian outpost was being reorganized, and my disciple Atreus took him away." Almorin, encouraged, quickened his pace. "I suspect that Atreus betrayed us around that time. Afterwards, they most likely returned to Jerusalem aboard Raymond's mission, the Count of Tripoli."

Sinan paced back and forth, remaining silent for a long time before saying, "In the last six months, traces of Assassin activity have suddenly appeared in Constantinople. Their style of operation is similar to ours, yet they are not under the control of Masyarde. The timing of their appearance coincides rather subtly with the arrival of this Lyon you mentioned in Jerusalem..."

"Constantinople... a murky pool of complexities." Sinan pointed to the location of Constantinople on the map, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "We used to think that establishing a foothold there was too costly and not worth the effort. But now it seems that there are fish we don't know about lurking beneath this water."

He turned to Almorin, his gaze now calm and collected, but his voice was stern, brooking no argument: "You need to go back to Saladin. He remains key to the Assassins' growth and expansion. As long as you maintain cooperation with Saladin, all Assassin activities can be branded as 'jihad,' giving us legitimacy. At the same time, you must stay close to the crown prince, monitoring his every move. As for Constantinople…"

A cold smile curled at the corner of Sinan's lips: "Things there should be handled by our own people. I will send another one of you to Constantinople. First, to find out Lyon's true background and his connection with those suddenly appearing Assassins. Second, to eliminate those uncontrolled forces and firmly grasp Constantinople in my hands."

Almorin bowed deeply: "I will obey your holy command."