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...

"Cough... Cough."

At the edge of the tower, Azariah stood, coughing, a mana shield clutched in his forearm, extended to protect his body.

His instinct saved him from the point-blank explosion, but damage was still done.

The sleeves of his shirt were burned, showing his hands—lined with layers of thin old scars.

They covered his skin as if some beast had repeatedly raked its claws up and down, again and again.

Pain surged through his scars, but it ...

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