Now, standing in the ruins of his own city, with the lives of his friends leaking out onto the pavement, William finally understood.
One created the poison. One wove the net. And the third… the third was
The hunt was on.
"The city didn't fall because of the sheer weight of numbers or the element of surprise," William muttered, his eyes darting across the cityscape as he carved through a group of enemy vanguard.
He wasn't looking at the foot soldiers anymore; he was looking for the invisible strings being pulled. "It fell because of that third bastard's unique ability. They didn't just break the walls—they broke the city's spirit."
In his past life, the order of the hunt had been different. But William was no longer a student following in his master's wake; he was a king reclaiming his throne. He decided, then and there, to rewrite the sequence of fate. He wouldn't prioritise the alchemist, Vladimir, yet.
