Back at the sanctum, deep within the confines of the training arena located in the basement, Rowan meticulously prepared for his practice session. His flintlock musket, gleaming with a polished barrel, lay in his hands, awaiting its next round of precise shots. As he selected a fresh cartridge of powder, Rowan couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of determination coursing through him.
The dimly lit training arena was the stage for his rigorous practice, adorned with wooden dummies serving as silent sentinels for his relentless marksmanship. Each wooden adversary stood firm, challenging Rowan to prove his mettle. With unwavering resolve, he lined up his sights, squinting through them and blinking a couple of times to ensure his focus was perfect.
