The mirror in Lancelot's hand fell to the ground, and his incredulous expression was reflected on its smooth surface.
The commander, who always paid attention to his appearance, had never shown such a twisted expression before.
"Impossible!" Lancelot lost his composure again, shouting excitedly, "Absolutely impossible!"
The three people in the living room were all startled.
Khor Peiqing continued to expressionlessly pick out fish bones, placing the deboned fish into Ye Wanlan's bowl.
Though her face remained calm, anxiety was growing inside her.
Of course, she had heard of Lancelot's name and had seen him once, but only from afar.
At that time, the commander had just assumed his position not long before, and he still appeared somewhat inexperienced.
Twenty years had passed, and Lancelot had become a figure of more prestige than even the King of Beirut.
In terms of public faith, only the High Priest was above him.
