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Chapter 183: The Road to Sampo (7)
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... name.
A bare room with nothing but a desk—not even a clock for decoration. Inside, an old man pulled out an inkwell and a quill pen.
Carefully, he dipped the quill into the ink and began to write across the parchment laid out on the desk.
Scratch, scratch—
Elegant hand movements. Classical penmanship.
In a world ruled by smartphones and keyboards, the letters born from the old ways were beautiful.
But the story they spelled out was anything but. < ...
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