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... aling only a pair of eyes that could not be seen too clearly in the dark.

The man’s hand holds a knife.

The narrow-cut blade is dark and unacceptable.

Not return.

"Who!"

"Who I am, it doesn't matter." The man said coldly, the voice was very weird, like a deliberately distorted one. "You just know that I know you."

The ink burns, but still calms and squats.

"I am just a disciple of death and death. Do you know what I am doing, is it interesting?"

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