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... eyes were the boss.
The homeowners who were kneeling on the ground frightened their courage. They cried and smashed their heads, and their brains were smashed. They only asked the monsoon smoke to give them a living path.
Yang Lan’s figure appeared on the side of the monsoon smoke. The three-pointed and two-edged knife in his hand was as bright as new, and the blood was not contaminated.
He is waiting, waiting for a monsoon to smoke an order.
It is killing, it is stay ...
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