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Chapter 637: Going to collect a favor, in Nidavellir.
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Chapter 639: Make me a Scythe.
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... again.
He tilted his head slightly, assessing the golden-scaled colossus before him—a living legend, an entity that should only exist in old books and stories told around campfires.
“…Sapphire,” he murmured with the calm of someone trying to make sure he’s not delirious, “that’s Fafnir. Fafnir.”
Sapphire twirled her finger, as if to say “yes, yes, go ahead.”
Vergil took a deep breath.
And finally blurted out, completely perplexed:
“Shouldn’t he be ...
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