“Get up.”

Richter’s words commanded obedience, despite the calmness of his tone, the unbothered inflection. Despite the fact that he was far from pleased with Vincent, he held that eerily calm smile still plastered on his unblemished face.

After hours of rigorous training, he still wasn’t satisfied. Richter was close to considering himself disappointed in Vincent’s progress. Good, yes, but still too weak. Far too weak for his liking. Perhaps it was because Richter refused to go easy on him; gods knew the man was ruthless, and not exactly a man who could be taken down. But he didn’t care, he needed to see more improvement. Vincent was the best he had, but even that meant nothing.

“I said get up. Do not make me repeat myself again, Vincent.”