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Weekly Contest #66
“It does not count if you are already planning your defeat,” I said, staring down at the boy knelt in front of me. His fingers were weakly wrapped around the hilt of his sword, blood decorating the blade, glimmering in the dim light as the sword flickered with the flame of the torches nearby. His face, though young, was beaten and bruised and bloodied. Despite having put up a significant fight, he had barely managed to scratch me. My arm stung from the cut near my shoulder, but it was nowhere close to the amount of lacerations decorating the...
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