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It was still early — the kind of hour most nobles would never dare leave their beds — but the Thorne training yard was already alive. Dozens of soldiers drilled in formation, blades flashing under the rising sun, voices barking orders, feet pounding stone.
Noel stepped into the open yard without a word.
His coat was gone, replaced by a dark sleeveless training tunic and fitted trousers. His boots were strapped tight. His hair was tied back. And at his hip, as always, hung ...
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Chapter 342 end
