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... something. Whatever it was they were working on, they seemed to be almost done. She wanted to kill and plunder them all.

‘There is no way that an object smelted by the myriad spirits treasure box is ordinary. From what I can tell, it seems that it will be of the same quality as this ship... It bothers me that mortals possess the highest level of refinement. Who is the one behind distributing so many myriad spirits treasure boxes to mortals and teaching them how to use it?’

The woma ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

“Atticus!” Daphne screamed. “I don’t want any heads! Let them go.”

“Fair enough.” Atticus shrugged, and flicked his fingers.

There were two identical cracks as both necks snapped at once.

Daphne gasped, horrified. This man, her husband, had just killed two men with a flick of his finger, as though he was snuffing out candles.

“I told you to let them go!” Daphne cried out.

“Yes, I let them go,” Atticus said. Then, his eyes darkened. “To receive divine judgment from the heavens.”

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