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... ved at this tungsten ore range.

Lafite stepped forward and answered: “It’s me. Lafite from the Black Isotta.”

The student glanced at her, whose stunning grace—a sort of grace that came with an unrestrained domineering manner—flooded him. Following which he narrowed his eyes.

Lafite’s withered skin had been healed after years of treatment. She had become a gracious queen again. And her character had become a little more cunning.

The student pulled out a map and cha ...

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