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The Moon Army and the Balium corps, which had come at the Mad General’s call, followed right behind him.

Together, they rushed into the Palace garden and several thousand legionaries immediately appeared to challenge them. The narrow paths of the garden didn’t allow the army to maneuver easily, but that wasn’t necessary.

Hadjar’s sword seemed to be everywhere at once. The legionnaires had no chance. A dark shadow flashed between them. Each swing of Hadjar’s blade took several lives; each of his attacks conjured a whole wave of ghostly blades that turned people into little more than mincemeat.

A bloodthirsty grin gleamed on the General’s face. The sword in his hand sang and danced. Like a spirit of death, he rushed through the garden, and by the time his people had barely managed to send a couple dozen legionaries to their forefathers, he’d covered the paths with over fifty bodies.

Pausing for a moment, Hadjar held his blade in both hands. A vortex of steel energy sprang up around him.
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