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Chapter 72: The Flight of the Slain
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Chapter 74: The Forsaken and the Faithless
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... strutted boldly among the corpses, tearing at sunken bellies.
Now and then, a dying man groaned, lifting a hand to the gray heavens, only to be greeted by dark wings instead of angels.
On the rampart, Vetrúlfr watched in silence. Blood still clung to his hair and beard.
His wolfskin mantle was stiff where it had drunk too deeply of the slain.
At his side stood Ármóðr, helm under his arm, gaze distant.
"It is done," the Jomsviking said. "Connacht’s host is ...
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