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... p> Behind him, a previously silent laborer spoke up.

His cheeks were sunken, his tall, lean frame clothed in tattered, filthy rags. His skin, having not seen sunlight for years, was pale, with visible veins.

Years in the dark had given him trachoma, making his eyes murky. Yet, at this moment, they gleamed with an inexplicable determination, faintly glowing in the mine’s darkness.

This laborer’s name was Nick. Born a serf, he had once served as a scribe. His parents had be ...

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