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... moment, he wondered if he were still asleep, dreaming some fevered vision of triumph too fantastical for reality. But no dream had ever smelled so richly of sweat, iron, and oiled wood.

Cart after cart rolled down the patchy green road, their wheels creaking beneath the weight of wealth pulled from the bones of Herculia.

The entire spoils of a broken city were being hauled, piece by piece, across the grass and laid bare before the quartermasters of the White Army. Their ink-stain ...

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