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The Wielder of Death Magic - Chapter 793
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... ncy, a coldness of each swing lowered the spearman’s confidence, “-else you’ll bite your tongue,” he ran through the narrowed path. Rubbles echoed down the valley, any ordinary being would have felt the pressure – instead of facing the potential of his own death, Igna forged forth recklessly.
‘He’s getting faster by the second,’ parried Oat, ‘-the swings are getting heavier,’ *clash,* a downward strike, same to a guillotine being dropped, resounded across Oat’s arms and legs, fatigue gre ...
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