Creed Of Heaven

Chapter 4: Intel on the Pieces of Eden 

Half a year flew by in a blur. 

When Lu Xiao finally caught his breath from the nonstop grind of training by day and studying by night, Monteriggioni had shifted through two seasons into winter. 

Tuscany, smack in the middle-west of the Apennine Peninsula, got a mild nudge from the Mediterranean's warm currents. No wild temperature swings here—not like the damp, chilly city he'd slogged through back home. This winter felt downright gentle by comparison. 

Frost dusted the rooftops, but the sun still broke through most days, casting a pale glow over the hills. The air carried a crisp bite, laced with the faint smoke of hearth fires curling from chimneys across the tiny town. 

Six months of hardcore training had done wonders for Lu Xiao, who wasn't in bad shape to start with. His muscles, once just faint outlines, now stood out sharp and defined. Not the showy, gym-bro kind—those pretty but useless slabs. No, this was practical strength, forged in near-real combat drills. He didn't look bulky, just solid. His frame had hardened, wiry and lean, built for speed as much as power. Sweat-soaked tunics and bruised knuckles had become his norm, the ache in his limbs a badge of progress he wore with quiet pride. 

Mario, as head of the Italian Brotherhood, was out of town most of the year. Either leading mercs against Florence, flipping to fight Siena, or handling Brotherhood business when the wars cooled off. He barely had time to train Lu Xiao himself. 

When he was around, though, his presence filled the manor like a storm—booming voice, heavy steps, and that scarred eye always watching. In his absence, the mercenaries took over, a rough crew of grizzled fighters who'd seen more battles than Lu Xiao could imagine. They didn't go easy, and he'd learned fast to keep up or eat dirt. 

'Clang!' In the Auditore manor's training yard, Lu Xiao gripped two short swords, squaring off against three beefy mercenaries at once. His breath puffed out in white clouds, mingling with the grunts and clashing steel echoing off the stone walls. 

Mario had laid out a tough training plan, but when it came to fighting style, he let Lu Xiao figure it out—like tossing a kid into the deep end. Mario only stepped in with razor-sharp advice at key moments, leaning on his grizzled combat know-how. "Feel the fight, Lu," he'd growl, pointing out a sloppy stance or a wasted swing. Those rare lessons stuck, etched into Lu Xiao's reflexes like carvings in stone. 

Lu Xiao hadn't gone for the longsword, the noble-lord favorite. Instead, he picked dual short swords. His style was nimble, a balanced mix of offense and defense—nothing like the straightforward slugfests most Europeans favored on the battlefield. He'd spent hours practicing quick jabs and sidesteps, dodging hay bales and wooden dummies until his moves flowed smooth as water. The swords felt right in his hands—light, sharp, an extension of his will rather. 

Being a Brotherhood guy, Mario wasn't some rigid old general. He didn't blink at Lu Xiao's choice—just told him to run with whatever fit best. "Lu, Assassins aren't stiff-necked Templars. We're all about free will, trying what works." They'd been by the weapon rack when he said it, as Lu Xiao hesitated, then grabbed the swords. Mario's nod was all the approval he needed. 

"Nothing is true," he'd said, dead serious, dropping the usual gruff cheer he had with the mercs. "Everything is permitted. Assassins don't get bogged down by dumb rules." His voice had dropped low, almost reverent. 

"Nothing is true'—when the world's blindly following broken ideas, we question them. 'Everything is permitted'—but that doesn't mean we butcher whoever we want." 

He'd laid it out heavy. "Those words come from Hassan-i Sabbah, the 11th-century master—the Old Man of the Mountain. Keep them in your head, Lu. Chew on what they really mean in training, in life, in missions." Mario's good eye had bored into him, searching for understanding. Lu Xiao nodded, the weight of the creed settling in his chest like a stone. 

"Don't let 'permitted' turn into reckless slaughter. Don't let 'nothing's true' blind you with arrogance. Stay sharp, stay objective." 

After six months of training and hanging around, Mario had a solid read on Lu Xiao's character through all the day-to-day stuff. Sure, slow-as-hell communication meant he couldn't verify that Ming Dynasty sob story yet, but you can't fake how someone acts on instinct. 

Lu Xiao wasn't some slimy opportunist. He hauled water with the servants, sparred without complaint, even laughed off the mercs' jabs at his accent. Mario saw a quiet grit there, a spark worth nurturing. 

The Brotherhood wasn't doing hot lately. The Templars were flexing harder than ever, thanks to their boss, Rodrigo Borgia, climbing the ranks. Assassin casualties had spiked across the continent these past few years. Mario saw potential in this steady, hardworking kid—someone to pump fresh blood into a crew running low on morale. The reports filtering into Monteriggioni painted a grim picture—ambushes in Venice, a safehouse torched in Milan. The Brotherhood needed fighters, and Lu Xiao was shaping up into one. 

Per Brotherhood rules, joining officially meant finishing all the training and getting the nod from the right people. Out on the field, Lu Xiao darted around, spotting a merc's sloppy swing with a two-handed weapon. His swords flicked out, tapping the guy's chest—vital spot, clean hit. Out of the fight. The merc cursed in Tuscan, rubbing his ribs as he stepped back, but a grudging smirk tugged at his lips. 

"Hah!" Another merc lunged from behind, jabbing a spear as Lu Xiao planted his feet. The sharp 'whoosh' closed in on his back. His ears caught the rustle of leather and the creak of the haft—six months of drills had tuned his senses sharp. 

Lu Xiao had already clocked it. With a burst from his legs and core, he bent backward into a bridge dodge, the spear tip grazing past. At the same time, a third merc roared, slashing a massive two-handed sword at his half-grounded waist. 

Lu Xiao crossed his swords, locking the spear guy's weapon. He shoved extra force into it, throwing the guy off balance as his thrust ran dry. Then, legs snapping up, Lu Xiao kicked—boots slamming the spear merc's face. Stars burst in the guy's eyes as he hit the dirt, done. The impact jolted through Lu Xiao's frame. 

The kick's rebound flipped Lu Xiao back to his feet, just dodging the greatsword that thunked into the ground, skimming his bangs. He hopped back, yanked a short bow off his shoulder, and aimed at the sword guy still reeling from the swing. His Clairvoyance snapped into focus, zeroing in on the merc's heaving chest—every bead of sweat, every twitch of muscle crystal clear despite the distance. 

"Enough!" a shout rang out. The three mercs raised their hands in a crisp French salute, grinning despite the loss. Lu Xiao dropped the bow, plopped onto the ground, and sucked in air, chest heaving. His pulse hammered in his ears, adrenaline still buzzing as he wiped sweat from his brow with a dirt-streaked sleeve. 

'Clap, clap, clap.' Mario strode up from the sidelines, a proud smirk on his face. "Bravo, Lu. Your fighting training is done. Next step's real combat—nothing beats that for sharpening up." His boots crunched over the frost-dusted yard, cloak billowing as he loomed over Lu Xiao like a weathered statue. 

"It's time." The mercs bowed as Mario stepped in, giving Lu Xiao's shoulder a solid pat. "Training's done here in Monteriggioni. Get ready to head to Florence—I'll write to Giovanni to take you under his wing." 

His face got stern. "That bloodline gift from your ancestors shouldn't rot in a backwater like this. Giovanni's in a tight spot in Florence—he'll need you." Mario's tone carried an edge, a hint of urgency Lu Xiao hadn't heard before. Florence was the Brotherhood's beating heart in Tuscany—and the Templars knew it. 

The "gift" was a mix-up. Mario thought Lu Xiao's crazy Clairvoyance eyesight was some form of rare Eagle Vision. It only made him buy the "Eastern heir" story harder. 

Lu Xiao wasn't about to correct him—why ruin a good thing? The misunderstanding got him deeper into the Brotherhood and closer to Piece of Eden intel. Win-win. 

With Mario's trust growing, Lu Xiao was finally getting a peek at internal Brotherhood reports. Most of it was Assassin-Templar skirmish stuff, but some bits mentioned the Pieces of Eden—including one Mario himself had handed off: the Shroud of Eden. 

That artifact had sat deep under the Auditore manor for years. Back in 1454, Templars hit Monteriggioni. Mario squeezed the info out of a captured spy and led a team to grab it from the underground stash. The tunnels were a nightmare—traps and mechanisms everywhere. His mercs took heavy losses, and Mario's left eye got smashed by a swinging pendulum, leaving him half-blind. 

He'd said the Shroud, locked in a small wooden box, had a creepy pull. When they opened it, everyone—Mario included—heard it 'calling'. The other mercs lost it, sucked in by the thing's lure. Mario had to cut them down when they turned on him, fighting the temptation himself. He sealed it up and passed it to Giovanni to haul out of Monteriggioni and lock away with the Brotherhood. The story lingered in Lu Xiao's mind—less a heroic tale, more a grim warning of the Pieces' power. 

Lu Xiao had figured his first Piece would tie into Ezio's big Golden Apple chase. Nope—Mario dropped this curveball instead. After Giovanni took it, the Shroud ended up stashed in Florence, at some Assassin's house. Mario's nudge to head there for training lined up perfectly with Lu Xiao's next move. Florence, the Renaissance jewel, teeming with art, intrigue—and now, a relic that could tip his mission. 

"Does the Shroud really bring people back from the dead, like the stories say?" 

That night, after a boozy farewell feast, Lu Xiao slumped against his bedpost, a little buzzed. He stared out at the bright crescent moon, lost in thought. The hall had been loud with laughter and clinking mugs, the mercs toasting his departure with rough Tuscan wine. 

"Either way, I've got intel on the first Piece of Eden. Can't slack off now, though." 

"Grabbing one finishes the world mission, but I've only got a year after that. Gotta plan smart—snag as many Pieces as I can in that time to boost the final reward rating." He rubbed his temples, the wine fuzz mixing with the weight of his next steps.