Inside one of Genesis Dispensary's private wards, Mosby stood over his third apprentice, Ellis. He only needed a glance before saying coldly, "Start preparing for the funeral."

Old Hayface and the rest of the gathered disciples froze like statues.

"Mr. Lake, even with your skills… you can't save Ellis?" Old Hayface asked in disbelief.

Mosby scoffed. "I can't. That punk Andrew shattered every meridian in Ellis's body. Most critically, his brain took a major blow—he suffered a severe concussion. Right now, he's no different from a vegetable."

The more Mosby spoke, the angrier he became. He silently cursed, 'Andrew, you little bastard… your death is coming.'

A young apprentice, no older than a teenager and clearly unaware of Mosby's true nature, asked innocently, "But Mr. Lake, Ellis isn't dead, right? We could take care of him here at Genesis Dispensary until he wakes up! Even if he never wakes up, you're rich, Mr. Lake—you could support him for the rest of his life!"

The roo