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... s that he’d propped himself up with what remained of his sword; as it was, he didn’t even have the energy to turn his head.
“Remarkable,” a big middle-aged voice whispered. “An untitled knight with this much skill?”
The world-famous Eiden fog suddenly lifted. Beneath it was a bloodbath—mountains of corpses, rivers of blood1. A quick glance revealed easily a thousand dead. Most of them wore the golden owl of the Pontier family.
A line of knights in full-plate armor waited nearby ...
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