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Chapter 43: Final Round
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Chapter 45: The winner
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... th his boots, armor catching firelight in a streak of molten gold. His left blade cut high, a whisper of silver meant for the neck, fake. The real danger came low, the right sword stabbing straight for the gut.
The Stranger didn’t flinch. His sword dropped in a perfect, downward sweep, catching the thrust and sliding along its edge with the hiss of grinding steel. Sparks kissed the air.
Jorel spun, momentum flowing like water, his left blade slicing horizontally for the chest. ...
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