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... Third Gate battle scattered across the horizon.

In the muted atmosphere, Ning Que staggered on the remnants of the torn battlefield, his body aching, every breath stinging in his lungs.

The Guild’s forces, once a united front, were now a fragmented echo of chaos, retreating from the power surge that had fought their ranks.

He ran a hand over his shoulder, where the golden mark pulsed rhythmically, its warmth battling the chill creeping into his bones.

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