Lisbeth is haunted by her darkest memory from Aincrad, but she learns she might not have to face it alone.
A blade to his throat, a thin crimson damage line spreading across it. The man’s ugly mouth curling into a sinister sneer. The toe of his boot slamming against a pile of equipment on the ground.
“Beg me for his life, girl. Perhaps I’ll spare this one.”
“Run…”
A knife plunges.
A mace swings down.
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