"I understand,"
Losang II spoke solemnly:
"That's why he, Turnbull, before his death, said those words."
[I understand... you're right, kid, I shouldn't... shouldn't have thought I could play their game...]
The assassin's gaze was lifeless.
He seemed to return once more to that rainy night, in the abandoned building, watching the old gang leader, desperate and insane, wailing with sorrow and unwillingness amidst an endless pool of blood.
"Just like that, amid the family infighting of the Iris Family that was all abuzz, Turnbull cleverly played low, professing allegiance to the powerful Duke on one hand, while on the other, he was making secret deals with the restless Viscount..."
Belicia scoffed:
"According to that old streetlamp himself, one of his ancestors was even a Seed left behind by Kevendill outside— all relatives, after all. Who else to help if not his own family?"
Losang II didn't laugh.
But he understood.
