"You're pronouncing it wrong!" A woman hissed at Rui. "It's H'ahmatouoho, not H'ahmatoooho!"
"H'ah-H'ahmatouoho?" Rui stuttered.
"Not bad but do better!" She glared at him, seemingly uncaring of his status as a Martial Artist.
If not for the fact that Rui retained the patience and maturity that came with fifty-nine years of life, he may very well have lost patience with his highly passionate linguistic trainer in his training of the Vilun dialect.
Rui struggled with the tongue-twisting number of syllables that every word seemed to have. Even a simple greeting had as many syllables as a normal sentence in the Kandrian language.
"I would like to revisit the wisdom of relying on a translator." Rui straightforwardly told Carl.
"Nice try, but no," Carl replied, amused.
"Senior Ceeran could rely on a translator," Rui pointed out. "Why can't I do the same?"
