Findir's daggers danced with the precision of an expert assassin, cutting through the air with deadly intent. He knew the anatomy of his target intimately, exploiting every weakness, every vulnerable point in the orc's body. The youthful warrior continued to smile, oblivious to the fact that, while it was having the time of its life, Findir was winning. The orc's Achilles tendons had been severed, causing it to stagger, and despite its speed, despite the powerful time magic that coursed through its veins, the warrior was being systematically worn down.
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