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... g clicked into place. This man, this wild-eyed, red-faced old ghost, must have been the owner of the Winter Eagle. The very same bird that Leier had beheaded without a second thought. The scent of its blood, dried and clinging to Agusa's armor, must have reached him. Perhaps through some kind of magic, perhaps through nothing more than a heightened sense honed by years of training. Either way, it didn't matter.

"Do you have any idea how much money I spent on that eagle?! You soulless mon ...

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