Far below, on the ground, Sunny was slowly losing the struggle against Anvil. The tip of the bloodied sword was already pressed against his neck, piercing the skin.
The blood was slowly flowing up the blade, trying to return to its source… however, his trembling hand was too mangled to contain it. His grip was still crushing, though, preventing the cursed sword from moving any further.
In that moment, tormented by desperation and pain, Sunny suddenly saw it clearly… the Will, and the way the King of Swords wielded it.
The vague shape of the path to Supremacy.
Disjointed pieces of knowledge and the things he had observed all came together, falling into place.
And suddenly, it all made sense.
His eyes narrowed.
It all made sense, but Sunny still did not know what he had to do. What he gained was not a map, but rather all the necessary tools he needed to draw the map — and then chart a course to his destinations across it.
If only he had time…
But there was no time.
