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... a silent figure in a black cloak appeared before him.

He simply extended his hand, indifferent. Hooded cultivators were almost the norm.

They called him a guard, but in the end, he was nothing more than a human toll booth. As long as they paid, he didn't care.

It wasn't as if the city lord cared about the cultivators' safety. The guards were there only to ensure he profited from every person who passed through the gates.

The hooded man opened his hand, letting sp ...

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