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Zaber dashed toward the door and flung it open.
The old man remained motionless in his place, calmly watching everything unfold—as though nothing in this world could ever surprise him again.
Zaber cast one final glance at the old man, said nothing, and stepped outside.
Outside, the night was utterly silent. Damp air, the scent of cold earth, and the distant whisper of wind blended together.
After running a short distance, he stumbled upon the cemetery. In the darkness, faint moonlight and starlight barely illuminated the gravestones—shadows stretched long, making the shapes seem almost alive.
Zaber pressed forward.
"This old man is extremely dangerous… He didn't save me for nothing. But what exactly does he want from me?" he thought to himself.
Inside the hut, the old man slowly rocked back and forth. In his hand he held a flat, round iron container. Though his eyes had grown dim, his gaze remained razor-sharp.
"What is this…?" he murmured.
