PREVIEW
... shot toward Modret’s heart.
At the last possible moment, Modret twisted sharply to the side, barely evading a fatal blow.
Even so, the weapon still skewered his chest, and his hot blood immediately stained the pristine snow.
"You’re truly slow, Modret," Iron Hand commented, a faint, chilling smile playing on his lips.
Modret quickly staggered backward, putting distance between himself and his attacker.
He desperately clutched his chest, the pain a searing ...
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