Hearing Wilson's serious tone, William inwardly cursed. Damn it, of all days, this kid picks my mother's birthday to bother me with nonsense.
Fixing Wilson with a warning stare, William said coldly, "Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow."
But Wilson, ever the opportunist when Lena was around, immediately put on a pitiful expression and looked to her for support.
"William," Lena said, her voice carrying a hint of reproach.
No matter how much of a joker Wilson could be, he was still the future heir of England. For William to dismiss him so bluntly in front of others felt disrespectful, especially when Lena had worked to maintain good relations between the two families.
Lena frowned slightly, clearly embarrassed by her son's attitude. "Wilson is our guest," she said. "Listening to what he has to say won't take much of your time. Go on, humor him.
"Take him around the castle or into the woods for some hunting if you like."
William resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Hunting? Seriously? As if he had time for such leisurely activities when the castle was bustling with preparations, and Abigail was taking on a public role for the first time.
Leaving Abigail without backup wasn't an option. If she needed his support and couldn't find him, it might discourage her from taking on responsibilities in the future. And then, who would handle the endless day-to-day trivialities of the castle?
As William hesitated, Lena, sensing his reluctance, made the decision for him.
"It's settled," Lena said firmly. "I'll have Abigail by my side to help with the preparations. You can take Wilson wherever you like. If anything urgent comes up, Abigail can inform me."
Seeing Abigail subtly nod in agreement, William exhaled in resignation and gave a thin smile. "Alright, I'll take Wilson to the castle for a chat."
After saying their goodbyes to the group, William drove Wilson back to the castle in a golf cart. Once inside, he led him to the small sitting room adjacent to his bedroom. A servant promptly delivered coffee, and after dismissing the staff, William turned to Wilson with a sharp look.
"Alright, spill it. What's so important that you had to bother me first thing in the morning?"
Wilson shifted uncomfortably, clearly trying to organize his thoughts. After a moment, he said, "Grandfather asked me to come and speak to you. Early this morning, we received word that the old Earl of Devonshire's manor was attacked last night, and everyone there disappeared overnight."
William's brow furrowed slightly, though he quickly masked his expression. "Why not start by telling me what you know?" he asked.
Wilson shrugged. "Not much, to be honest. I was woken up by the butler at five in the morning and summoned to see Grandfather. He told me to come here and ask if you knew anything.
"If you didn't know, I was to stay here as an early guest to help with hosting your mother's party. But if you did know, Grandfather hopes you'll travel to London to discuss this with him in person."
William's mind quickly analyzed the timeline. If Philip had received word about the manor by 4:00 AM, possibly earlier, that meant someone in England was actively monitoring supernatural activity.
William had thoroughly cleaned up the Earl's estate by 1:00 AM. The fact that Philip knew about it shortly afterward raised the question: Was someone keeping tabs on the werewolves?
"I don't have time to go to London today," William said, shaking his head. He doubted the old king would attend Lena's birthday celebration anyway; Charles and Diana agreeing to come was already a significant gesture. "Tell him I'll meet him tomorrow if he wants to talk."
"So, you do know something?" Wilson said, narrowing his eyes in realization.
Seeing his friend's sudden look of comprehension, William chuckled. "Well, look at you, putting the pieces together."
"Cut it out," Wilson said, rolling his eyes. "Just because I don't act like a genius around you doesn't mean I'm not one."
He glanced around the room, lowering his voice. "Alright, fine. What exactly happened last night?"
William leaned back in his chair, considering his response. After a moment, he said, "Look, I know this room is secure. But I'll tell you this: whatever you need to know, your grandfather or father will tell you. And if they don't think you need to know, it's better you don't ask. Some things are better left alone."
Wilson looked at him skeptically. "Does it have to do with this?" he asked, raising his hand and mimicking a clawed gesture.
William's gaze turned cold in an instant, his eyes locking onto Wilson like a predator sizing up prey.
Wilson stiffened, feeling an inexplicable chill run down his spine. Despite himself, he began to sweat as an oppressive pressure seemed to close in around him. After a tense few seconds, he stammered out an explanation.
"W-wait! Don't misunderstand. I don't know anything. Honestly. When I left, the butler made this gesture, and I thought it might be a clue. That's all."
William exhaled slowly, releasing the mental pressure he had unknowingly exerted on Wilson. Internally, he cursed Philip for playing mind games. The old fox had undoubtedly instructed the butler to use the gesture, knowing it would provoke a reaction from William.
Philip wasn't just testing William's knowledge of the werewolves—he was probing his attitude toward them.
If Wilson returned to Philip and described William's reaction to the clawed gesture—particularly the cold look in his eyes—it would confirm that William knew about the werewolves and, most likely, that he had played a role in the manor incident.
William smiled faintly, masking his irritation. "Alright," he said, "since we're both dancing around the issue, let me ask you this: what kind of mood was your grandfather in this morning?"
Wilson frowned, thinking back. "He seemed… in a good mood. No, actually, he seemed very pleased."
Hearing this, William couldn't help but laugh. "Well, that tells me everything I need to know."
"What do you mean?" Wilson asked, his tone curious and suspicious.
"Let's just say," William replied with a smirk, "that it sounds like your grandfather and I share similar opinions about certain… matters."
Wilson stared at him, his expression growing more serious. "You're talking about them, aren't you?"
"Who knows?" William said with a shrug, though his lack of denial spoke volumes.
Wilson let out a dry laugh. "You're not very subtle, you know. It's not hard to figure out where you stand."
"And where do I stand?" William asked, leaning forward slightly.
"Simple," Wilson said. "You hate the old Earl. You've made that perfectly clear. So, if something happens to his estate, it's obvious you're not going to lose any sleep over it."
"Exactly," William replied, leaning back with a satisfied grin.
Philip's good mood confirmed that he didn't oppose William's actions. In fact, it suggested that the old king harbored similar disdain for the werewolves—or, at the very least, wasn't interested in protecting them.
It made sense. No ruler would tolerate the existence of unpredictable, violent creatures like werewolves—beasts that transformed uncontrollably under the full moon. Even among the supernatural, werewolves were seen as wild, uncontrollable, and crude compared to vampires.
For William, the matter was simple. He saw all supernatural beings as threats, dangerous predators that fed on humanity.
But there was another reason for his hostility: William was a superhuman. And as far as he was concerned, the fewer superhumans in the world, the better.
If possible, he wanted to be the only one.
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Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1289)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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