King of Hell on Earth

15 minutes ago, in front of Lancelot's home.

In the quietness of the hall, Lancelot stood in front of the gate, looking at his daughter Christine, no expression on his face. Christine's wound had not yet healed. Perhaps someone intended this so that Christine would be so weak that she could hardly get on her own feet. The wound on her thigh burst open and was bleeding.

"Please let me go, father." Staring at Lancelot, Christine asked in a low voice, "This is the last time I ask you."

"It's too late, Christine." Shaking his head, Lancelot said coldly, "You cannot change anything even if you get there now."

"Is it so?" Christine lowered his eyes in disappointment. "I see." Then, with a clicking sound of steel, she drew her sword and positioned it on her left arm which was raised up, taking aim at Lancelot. The move had been practiced so many times that it was perfect.