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... rry from how fast he moved through the battlefield.

Only Sumi could see him.

'Lance, be prepared. He's moving.'

'Got it.'

Lance nodded and swept his gaze through the battlefield, looking at the madly running demon of pride.

As the Baron of Pride dashed, he left a quaking force in his wake, causing unbridled destruction to the battlefield.

Everytime he stepped on the ground, a destructive impact would erupt beneath him and cause smoke to rise and di ...

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Lu Lingxi died.

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Umbilical cord blood, stem cells, bone marrow… whenever his brother needed it, he would have no choice but to quietly lie on the operating table.

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“Y-young master, the Lord is requesting your presence.”

I looked at myself in the mirror as a maid's voice, laced with trepidation, reached my ears.

“Tell him I'll be there shortly.”

“I understand, y-young master.”

I paid no mind to her quivering presence, my gaze fixed on my reflection.

And this is exactly why I despise this character, Yes, He is a villain with my name but does it matter, no, the problem is this guy's weight he is so heavy that this tub of lard is weighing me down, literally.

For someone who prides themselves on muscle, nothing's worse than “fat,” and this guy before me? Well, he's a prime example of that.

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Reaching the door, exhaustion gripped me and I found myself gasping for breath. It was unbelievable – this body was so darn heavy.

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Damn it. Seriously? I collapsed, leaving the twenty servants to hastily lift me and place me onto the litter. For me, it felt more like a stretcher. There I was, sprawled on it like some mountain, panting heavily.

“You damn god! I hope the protagonist of your favorite novel gets NTRed!”

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Can you believe it? his father's office is just thirty steps away from this pumpkin room, yet he insists on using a litter.

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I ordered while cursing this hefty body under my breath.

“Oh, come, come, my dear child. How was your day?”

I glanced at the middle-aged man, his face exuding warmth and care.

As for my feelings? This old man right here is the reason this chubby exists. Not that I give a darn about my indulgent father.

“I'm alright, Dad.”

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“What's going on, Dad?”

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“Your fiancee is coming tomorrow”

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A false Sword Saint: Faintly discernible Martial Art and a matchless Sword Art. Killing one man with every ten steps, no traces left behind in ten miles.

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