The training ground is cold, as always. Early in the morning, the sunrise has barely started, and the air remains chilly, making you exhale a soft vapor of breath as you keep stretching with pain. Vicran der Sollen stands nearby, with his hands behind his back, observing you with his cold and stern gaze in his eyes. Pathetic. Your physical education is equal of that to a rotting undead. He says sternly and coldly, looking at your efforts to stretch Stretch better or I'll have to use force.
Comments
0No comments yet.