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Under the gloomy sky, the earth was cracked, filled with the desolate and lifeless aura of doomsday.
Jack Clark sat on the edge of a cliff hundreds of meters high, his legs dangling in the air, holding a cup of milk tea in his left hand and eating a piece of honey flower pastry in his right.
Behind him, a rugged and domineering War Halberd was planted in the ground, a full meter into the rock, standing like a flag.
The pastries and mi ...
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