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... ast chop off a limb or two.”
Cork’s casual tone, as if it were some simple task, left his subordinate mercenaries dumbfounded.
“Sir, are you high? We’re not talking about just anyone’s limbs here—you’re asking us to take out the Solver’s limbs.”
“Why should we risk our lives trying to cripple Keter? Your victory is already a sure thing without doing anything.”
The mercenaries’ arguments were logical and sound. But Cork wasn’t looking for logic or validation. What ...
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