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Chapter 86: Ivaim Commentaries
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Chapter 88: Nonfigurative Bloody Battle
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... ll, spear in hand. His broad shoulders were relaxed, but his whole body was ready to strike.
His silver-gray eyes locked onto his opponent without a hint of doubt. He didn’t need to speak; his presence alone demanded respect.
Ivaim, usually quick with sharp remarks, kept unusually quiet.
He leaned forward slightly, lips pressed into a thin line.
’If he hears laughter from the crowd while he’s fighting—and realizes it’s because of me... I might get my throat impale ...
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