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... did not spark chatter.
It did something far worse.
It unsettled the arena.
The obsidian floor still bore the scars of his passage, thin gleaming seams etched into the surface like afterimages of violence. Even as the sigils began their slow work of restoration, they hesitated around those cuts, as if uncertain whether they were allowed to erase them.
On the Regalon platform, Silvester leaned his sword-arm against his shoulder, grinning, entirely pleased with hims ...
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