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... one of almost lazy contempt. He looked Mo Jiao up and down, from his blood-stained, ill-fitting robes to his gaunt, almost skeletal frame.
A smirk touched Wang Jian’s lips.
"And here I was expecting a true demon," Wang Jian’s voice was calm, conversational, yet it cut through the tense air with the sharpness of glass. "You just look like a starved dog that’s been rolling in a rubbish heap. Is this truly the best the Blood Fiend Sect can produce these days?"
Mo Jiao’s red ...
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