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... ng point.
It wasn't the kneeling cultists. It wasn't the villagers worshipping him. It wasn't even the fact that an entire mercenary squad had fled in terror because of a chicken.
No, the moment that truly shattered him was when Greta, the village elder, waltzed into his forge the next morning and dumped a sack of gold coins onto his workbench.
"There you go," she said, dusting off her hands. "Your first round of tribute."
Darin, who had been attempting (and faili ...
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