MARCH 27, 1860
The ink bleeds across the page, as though even the written word is reluctant to form under the weight of what I now face. It's a strange thing, writing when the world around you seems to be crumbling into dust. I sit here, quill in hand, yet my mind remains far from the present moment—lost in the haunting aftermath of Naosuke's death, the Mentor's fall, and the chaos that is rapidly consuming Japan.
It has been three days since our world fell apart. Three days since Naosuke's head was lifted high for all to see, the blood still fresh from his neck. Three days since the Mentor's lifeless form crumpled to the earth, his own heart extinguished, and with it, any semblance of direction for the Brotherhood. Since then, nothing has been the same.
I cannot forget the sight of Naosuke's decapitation. His death was not just the fall of a leader—it was the severing of hope, the cutting off of our vision for a peaceful future. Naosuke had been many things: a leader, a strategist, a diplomat, but above all, he had been our symbol of resolve. He had held us together, united under his cause for a better Japan. To lose him in such a way—publicly, violently, and with such disgrace—has shaken the core of our Brotherhood. Even now, I can almost hear the final screams of the Assassins, the sound of their panic as the realization of their defeat set in.
And the Mentor… His death is perhaps the greatest blow of all. His guidance was our anchor, his wisdom the thread that kept us focused through even the most harrowing of times. Without him, we are like a ship tossed upon a stormy sea, with no captain at the helm. The weight of our mission, once carried with such purpose, now feels almost unbearable. How can we continue without the one who knew all the answers? Who will stand in his place? Who can?
The Brotherhood is in disarray. The Assassin council is in turmoil. For the first time in my life, I have witnessed a fracture so deep that it threatens to tear us apart from within. The bickering is more vicious than I have ever known. Old rivalries, once buried beneath the unity of our cause, now rise to the surface. Voices shout, accusations are thrown, and blame is passed as though it were the only commodity left in this fractured world. Some speak of immediate action—of electing a new Mentor without delay—but I know as well as anyone that such haste will be our downfall. Others, perhaps wisely, call for caution, arguing that we must wait and assess before choosing a successor. But how long can we afford to wait when the clock is ticking, when the enemy presses in on all sides?
Who, truly, can take Naosuke's place? Who can stand in the shoes of the Mentor? This question looms over every discussion, every argument. The council is split—some propose individuals they think fit the role, others dismiss them outright. The divide grows with each passing hour, and I fear the consequences of our indecision. In times of crisis, we need a leader—one who can unite us, one who can guide us through the darkness. Yet, none among us seem to have the strength, the resolve, to rise to the occasion. Not yet, anyway.
And outside our walls, Japan itself burns. The death of Naosuke has done more than weaken the Brotherhood—it has thrown the entire country into chaos. The Shogunate, now without its strongest leader, is fractured. The Imperialists, their eyes now fixed on the prize of a restored Emperor, grow bolder with each passing day. Skirmishes erupt in every corner of the country, and the violence is spreading like wildfire. Towns are pillaged, villages razed to the ground, and innocent lives are lost in the crossfire.
I cannot help but feel that the Templars have orchestrated this chaos with great precision. They knew the Shogunate could not last forever, and they knew how to create the perfect storm to ensure its collapse. Japan is now a battlefield—a place where ideologies clash, where power is seized through bloodshed, where fear is the only constant. In the midst of all this, we are no more than pawns on a board, our moves dictated by forces greater than ourselves.
I find myself unsure of where to turn. We, the Assassins, were once the ones who pulled the strings, who moved behind the scenes to ensure the world bent to our will. But now we are lost in the wake of our own defeat. The Templars have taken the upper hand, and their influence is spreading further with each passing moment. Our Brotherhood is fractured, and Japan teeters on the edge of civil war. The enemy is everywhere, and yet, we remain divided.
There is another matter that weighs on my mind—one I have long tried to ignore but can no longer avoid. The Youkai. Our alliance with them has always been tenuous, built on a fragile trust. Thus far, we have relied on their network for information and assistance. They have been invaluable in helping us maintain our cover, but the question now arises: can we continue to trust them?
The Youkai feed on human fear, on the very chaos that is now engulfing Japan. They thrive in the shadows, manipulating fear and violence to their own ends. What if they, too, are using this crisis to further their own agendas? What if they are not as loyal as they appear, or worse, what if they are simply waiting for the right moment to turn on us? I've seen the way some of them—Kagerou, Senkibanki—eye us with suspicion, as though they know something we don't. There is an unsettling hunger in their eyes, and I wonder if we are simply tools to them, just as we are to the Templars.
Can we truly trust them in this coming storm? As the war escalates, more Youkai will rise to capitalize on the fear and destruction. They will feed on the chaos we have helped create. And when the time is right, will they remain our allies—or will they turn against us in the name of their own survival? It is a question I cannot answer, but one I feel deep in my gut.
I am at a crossroads. The world around me crumbles, the Brotherhood splinters, and the future is nothing more than an empty void. I am no leader, but I must make a decision soon. We cannot afford to remain paralyzed by indecision. The Templars are not waiting for us to get our act together. Japan is falling, and we must act—or we will be swept away in the tide of its destruction.
But how? And what happens when the final move is made? What will be left of us after the dust settles? I fear there will be little left of either the Brotherhood or Japan by then. I wish I could say I have faith in our survival, but I find it harder and harder to believe in such things.
- Leopold Lafleche