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And history, for the first time, began to scream.
Ezio’s blood turned cold. Not because of the power—but because of the last line. Any target.
Instead, the world stuttered .
But tonight, as he stood on the wooden scaffolding above the Galata Tower, he understood.
It had been three days since Ezio Auditore last slept.
“Activate: One-Hit Assassinations.”
Underneath, in parentheses, a word Leonardo da Vinci would never have used: TRAINER .
A Templar captain raised a crossbow. Three bolts flew. Ezio dodged—or tried to. The first bolt clipped his shoulder. He grunted, stumbling toward the parapet. The second would have pierced his throat.