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... n wipe the sweat from his brow, reset his practice blade, and exit the circle.
He followed Dane through two antechambers, each lined with old oil portraits, none of which Soren recognized or cared to linger on. The Swordmaster’s office waited at the end, smaller than anticipated, but clean to the point of asceticism.
Three blades hung behind the desk, each in a different state of undress: a ceremonial saber, a battered dueling sword, and a weapon so ancient it looked like it migh ...
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