"Again, your posture is wrong." Dravaris's voice was calm but edged like steel.
"Try to strengthen your foothold more. You're leaving yourself open."
Rowan gritted his teeth and adjusted his stance again with his hands already trembling from exhaustion. Sweat dripped from his chin and splattered against the marble floor of the training hall.
"Again," Dravaris ordered coldly, pacing around him like a predator.
"You're doing it wrong again…" he added, his tone laced with quiet disdain. "You move like a child who's never held a sword."
Hearing that, Rowan's jaw tightened. His chest heaved as anger began to crawl up his throat, hot and suffocating. For days, Dravaris had done nothing but criticize him. Every correction came with an insult and every lesson felt more like humiliation than teaching.
He knew Dravaris was testing him or somehow pushing him but there was a limit to his patience.
