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Chapter 168: Tomorrow’s Funeral
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Chapter 170: Under the Morning Sun
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... ow, painting the stone walls in muted gray. Trafalgar stirred, sitting up on the stiff bed, the air colder than ice even inside the fortress. He rubbed his face with both hands before swinging his legs to the floor.
His black clothes were already laid out—a tunic, trousers, gloves, all trimmed with somber detail. Morgain custom demanded mourning attire, and for once, he didn’t argue. He dressed quickly, the chill biting at his skin until the fabric settled around him.
Pulling on ...
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