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C1845

"Resentment filled my voice. Good, very good!" The young cultivator laughed heartily at the sound of the flute.

Turning his face to face with the formation plate, his face was already filled with coldness and killing intent: "Die!"

As he spoke, he extended his right hand. It was several inches long, with green, glossy nails. They were like small daggers as they clawed at the formation plate

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