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Chapter 35: Sword And Blood
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Chapter 37: Paying Heaven For A Breather
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... ething he could not see.
It was almost gentle. Like a mother’s hand laid on a fevered brow, except the comfort was a lie and the fingers were not hers.
The calm did not belong to him. That was what scraped at him.
Not pride. Not fear. It was the simple fact of it. People doing as they pleased because it made sense to them, because it was necessary, because they could.
He almost laughed at his own thoughts. He was no better, was he. He swallowed the bite of that an ...
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