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... k mist seeped out from the crack in the door. There are strands of squirming black threads floating in the mist, like hair and capillaries. The black mist smells of rotting fish, mixed with an indescribable decaying smell, which is disgusting.
"He's the Fogblade."
Bai Gu whispered to Wu Rong through the blood contract, with a dignified tone: "A master who ranks sixty-nine in the local list."
"Looking at his ghost mist, I'm afraid he is on the verge of spiritual recovery."
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