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... hete hanging on his waist. His eyes glinted between the tangles of his disheveled hair.

Crockta greeted him. “Are you alive? We are—”

However, before Crockta could even finish his sentence, the man pulled out his machete and aimed it at Crockta. "Fuck off, thieves.”

“We aren’t thieves. We are just—” Crockta tried to explain, but the machete drew closer to him, making contact with his skin.

Crockta’s eyebrows twitched in irritation. Nevertheless, he decided to take ...

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