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... e distance, a familiar arrogance made its way toward Corvin’s seat.

Nareth Vaelion stood beside him again, eyes gleaming with misplaced confidence and barely restrained disdain. His smirk was theatrical, his voice dripping with mock civility.

"Mercenary," he began, "you know what that word means? A tool. A blade for hire. A thing that can be bought."

Corvin remained reclined, eyes closed.

"What’s your price mercenary, how much gold should I throw at your feet to s ...

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