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... ing beneath her chin, eyes narrowing with mild interest.
"I doubt my [Village Chief Killer] will so much as scratch this," she muttered.
Village Chief Killer? Does she mean that scythe in her hands?
She planted the weapon upright beside her, and it stood on its own, as though obeying her will. Then, she spread her fingers.
I assumed she would strike with her bare hands. But no. I began to feel it—an eerie convergence of energy gathering at her fingertips.
...
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