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Chapter 113: What Happened to Her [2]
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... > Alaric’s blade cut through the morning mist, each movement precise, economical. No wasted energy, no flourish for style.
Nine hundred ninety-seven. Nine hundred ninety-eight.
Sweat ran down his spine despite the chill, his shirt clung to his back like a second skin. His muscles burned but in the good kind, earned through repetition rather than punishment.
The practice sword had worn grooves into his palms over the months, calluses on top of calluses.
Nine hundre ...
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