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... e shroud. Byrnndi World and his entourage emerged from the treeline, their heavy boots crunching over the snow, and were greeted by a vast, flat expanse of white.

There, in the middle of that ghostly field, stood over a dozen men in jet-black mafia suits—members of the Donquixote Family. Their expressions were tense, guarded. Behind them, wooden crates were stacked high, their corners buried in ice and powder.

World's lip curled into a sneer, mocking and wild.

"Where is t ...

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