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Chapter 127: Patchwork (7)
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... ne, his trembling arm barely supported him. The deep wrinkles on his face weren’t just aging signs—they were layers of memories and time. For some, those wrinkles carried wisdom and insight; for others, they harbored greed and shamelessness.
However, something was clearly off with the Lord of Grassmere. It was as if someone had forcibly rewound the clock, shaking the pendulum back and forth.
He’s been drained.
The life that should’ve flowed naturally had been devoured by ...
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