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... lance, he knew the man had been faking it.

For a brief moment, time seemed to slow. The battered pugilist, his face smeared with dirt and dried blood, pushed himself up from the ground in a sudden, desperate motion. His breath was ragged, each inhale a labored gasp, but there was fire in his eyes—one last chance, a gambler's final bet. Muscles rippled beneath his bruised skin as he sprang toward the nearest alley, hoping shadows would cloak his escape.

The guard, who had remained ...

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