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... d.

"Yes. I taste it well, Dante, and it's sweet. Just like the taste of your blood will be."

Dante stared at the boy before him, his gaze seemingly indifferent.

Even for him, it was a lot to process. He was clearly standing before someone who looked no older than twenty. He himself was thirty-five. Raizel was forty-two. The two of them had chased the fineness of swordsmanship since their youth. Of course, with Raizel's broken ability, he was never as enamored with the swo ...

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