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The battle at Kraba Market had ended. More than a thousand Gray Wolf Soldiers laid down their weapons and, with hands atop their heads, left the shelter.
Their faces were ash-stained, their expressions downcast, most with fresh wounds yet to scab over, and their dust-covered eyes lacked any hint of light.
If they had lost to the Alliance, they might have taken some consolation, but facing these militiamen who couldn’t even scrounge together a single intact outfit filled ...
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