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... ltures awaiting a wounded prey. The red, tattered cloths over their heads gave them a ghostly, ritualistic look, faces hidden except for sharp, focused eyes. Leather cuirasses covered their torsos, blackened and battered from years of conflict, with iron spikes adorning their pauldrons like savage thorns.
Their arms rippled with lean muscle, each man gripping a twin-bladed axe that had tasted both coin and blood.
These weren’t mere highway thugs. Every one of them had the posture ...
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