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Chapter 167 - 168: Suicide?
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Chapter 169 - 170: Was
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... bones beneath a colorless sky, the land bore no greenery—only dust, frost, and the silence of things long dead. Wind howled across the barren ridges, dry and sharp as glass, carrying with it the stench of iron, oil, and gunpowder.
And atop those cold, cold hills, spread out like a mechanical beast feasting on the earth, lay the imperial front—no mere camp, but a living, breathing war machine. A temporary city, forged in haste but run with precision, built not for comfort but for conques ...
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