"Young Master, while that woman Claire possesses a decent level of combat skill, I truly believe she is far from qualified to guide your martial cultivation," Wolf muttered, his face a portrait of bruised ego as the carriage rattled through the city streets. The horses’ hooves beat a rhythmic tattoo against the stone, a stark contrast to the heavy silence emanating from the carriage’s interior. "Furthermore, the price you offered her is astronomically high. If silver is all it takes, I think I could provide much more... intimate and effective instruction myself."
Liam cast a dry, sidelong glance at Wolf’s hulking, bear-like physique. He imagined the man’s rough, calloused hands guiding his strikes or the smell of cheap tobacco and sweat during a sparring session. A visible shiver of revul
