Tomorrow

In the hospital sickroom, the atmosphere grew tense. The sound of the friction of metal lingered, as if it was a fantasy.

"Do you know what people like you are called by the Religious Court of Inquiry when they are executed on the scaffold?" Ye Qingxuan gazed at Lancelot, his stare gradually growing colder. He said in a cold voice as if produced by gears and springs rubbing each other, "Defeatist!"

Lancelot didn't show any change in expression, as if it didn't concern him at all. He shook his head indifferently and said, "You should learn to prepared for the worst before you place your bet."