That perhaps could not be called a person; his face was covered in tumors, his features squeezed out of shape, making him look both terrifying and disgusting.

"What's going on? Everyone has a responsibility to protect the environment. All the boss did was pick something up, how did it cause such a commotion?" Logan Sullivan glanced from afar at the devastated "battlefield," looking around, only to find there was nowhere to even set foot.

Soulwarden paused when he heard his voice, but didn't turn around. He simply said to the tumor-faced man, "I'll ask you one last time, where is the Reincarnation Sundial?"

The tumor monster stiffly turned his neck under the Soulcleaver, staring straight in Logan Sullivan's direction, and instead of answering, said to Soulwarden, "My master asked me to deliver a few words to you. For hundreds of years, you have dutifully fulfilled your responsibilities, avoiding the one you care about as if they were a plague. It seems you've achieved the ultimate in self-restraint, but is it really just because you're afraid you can't control yourself?"

Soulwarden said nothing, but the chill around him grew even heavier.

"My master deeply admires your passion, and specially sent him to you, just to see if you are truly without desire or..."

This time, Soulwarden didn't let him finish. With a swift, clean motion, the blade fell, and a huge spray of blood burst from the tumor monster's head. The stench was so overwhelming it made people dizzy. Then a fierce wind swept across the rooftop, making it hard for Logan Sullivan to open his eyes. When the wind stopped, everything on the rooftop had returned to normal, as if the corpse and the monster from moments before had never existed.

Soulwarden turned from a distance, cupped his hands in farewell, and without a word of explanation, hurriedly slipped into that black hole. From that always composed back, Logan Sullivan actually saw a hint of panic.

With the origin of the Soulcleaver, even the gods would retreat—who would dare to challenge him face to face like this?

The Reincarnation Sundial... who stole it this time?

【Volume Two: Terra-Spike】

Chapter 21 Terra-Spike One …

No. 4 Guangming Road was neither a Spider Cave nor a Bone Lair.

Especially during the day, you could hardly see even a shadow of a ghost. The reception at the gate was handled by a kindly old man—of course, later Charles Gray discovered that the old man wasn't all that normal either. He was very fond of making bone carvings, and the reception room's corner was often piled with all kinds of bones. If you suddenly opened a window, yellowish-white powder would float everywhere.

The Criminal Investigations Unit office was bright and clean, with good lighting. Each person had their own desk and computer, with various office supplies and green plants nearby. Every afternoon at two, a regular cleaning lady would come to tidy up. There was central air conditioning, and in a small side room, a fridge and storage cabinet, which held cat food, yogurt, fruit, and other snacks for anyone to take.

Once, Charles Gray even saw a drawer full of thinly sliced raw meat for hotpot in the freezer. At first, he didn't know what it was for... until one day, he saw the beautiful woman named Holly Harlow take out a bag, thaw it, and then, just like other girls eating potato chips, she pinched off slices and ate them with the blood.

The next day, Holly Harlow took a day off, citing the unavoidable monthly trouble.

Of course, it wasn't the reason everyone thought, because on the third day when Holly Harlow came to work, Charles Gray was shocked to see her dragging a long python tail. Holly Harlow ate bloody raw meat slices for several days, and after another two days, she finally had two legs again and returned to a normal human diet.

Besides the beautiful snake woman, the fake monk, and the fat black cat, there was another colleague in Criminal Investigations Unit. Half a month after the Starved Wraith Incident, he returned from a business trip, covered in dust, sat down and silently glued reimbursement receipts all afternoon, then collapsed on his desk and fell asleep, finally being personally sent home by Director Sullivan who came to check on him.

Charles Gray had seen the nameplate on his desk: "Carter Shaw". Everyone called him Brother Carter, but Charles Gray didn't dare to talk to Carter Shaw on his own—he looked about the same age as Julian West, extremely thin, so thin that his cheeks were sunken, almost skin and bones, which made his features look especially sharp, and he was always frowning.

Charles Gray wasn't sure if it was just his imagination, but he always felt that the other man's frown deepened when he looked at him.

Work was usually not busy. Except for the first two days when Charles Gray started and the workload was a bit heavy, he found this was the very definition of "high pay, light work, close to home." There weren't even two or three cases a month reported to the office. Usually, Logan Sullivan would send one or two people to take a look, strictly following the principle of "handling ghost matters, not human ones." Most human cases were committed by humans, so they would just make a round, come back, and write a routine report.

The rest of the time, everyone sat at their desks reading, surfing the internet, chatting idly, and then just killing time until the clock struck the end of the workday.

Only then did Charles Gray realize that there were actually a lot of procedures for Special Investigation Bureau to take on a case—when a suspicious case occurred, someone had to be sent to check it out, then write a report and submit it to Logan Sullivan. Director Sullivan would then decide whether to take the case based on the report. If it was determined that Special Investigation Bureau should handle it, another report had to be prepared, stamped, and sent up the chain. If it was urgent, it would take about one working day for the higher-ups to issue an official reply, then the order would be passed to the relevant units, clarifying responsibilities and ensuring Special Investigation Bureau's work went smoothly. Usually, only then would Logan Sullivan personally step in to coordinate with the public security bureau in charge of the case.

It was just by coincidence that on the Ghost Festival, there was an emergency homicide, and everyone happened to be out. The crime scene was at Blackstone headquarters, and Darrin Grant had caught a scent from the other side of the underworld, so Logan Sullivan made a snap decision to act first and report later, only completing the procedures after the case was closed.

To handle the paperwork, Julian West didn't get to sit down for three days.

And so, with not a single case, Charles Gray muddled through his three-month probation and, miraculously, stayed on.

Even more bizarre, Logan Sullivan seemed to have forgotten how he had once gritted his teeth wanting to kick him out, and very cheerfully signed off on Charles Gray's application for regular employment.

Charles Gray gradually got used to the empty Personnel Division during the day, and, holding his official employment certificate, happily floated over to register.

Darrin Grant watched his awkward, stiff-backed figure, tail raised arrogantly, and climbed onto Logan Sullivan's desk: "Men are all fickle. Not long ago you couldn't wait to kick him out like a ball, and now you actually kept him."

Logan Sullivan was busy texting, not even looking up: "He's got so much merit on him, it's like an Oxford dictionary. He's bound to have good luck. I'll keep him as a mascot. Besides, I think the kid is pretty amusing."

Darrin Grant asked curiously, "What merit?"

Logan Sullivan pointed to his drawer. The black cat wiggled over, pried it open, and pulled out a huge file folder. Inside were documents, volunteer photos, donation records, and so on, going back nearly ten years. There was even a photocopied picture of a postcard stuck to the wall of a mountain school, with scrawled writing: "You all must do well."

Darrin Grant was shocked: "You mean all this was done by Charles Gray?"

"Yeah, you know his family, he never lacked money growing up. But for some reason, maybe embarrassment, he always did things quietly. None of his relatives or elders knew, they all thought his allowance was enough. The kid has always lived frugally for years, so his merit doubled."

"Oh... that's rare, really rare." The now even fatter black cat shook his head and sighed, then sidled up to Logan Sullivan, peeking at his text messages with disdain. "Seriously, what's wrong with you? You bother him so many times a day, three months of checking in, and you're still only at the 'ask him out for dinner' stage?"

Logan Sullivan sent the message, flicked Darrin Grant on the head, making the cat fall on his butt: "Good things take time. What do you know?"

Just then, William Sherman's reply arrived: "Sorry, there's a faculty meeting tonight."

The black cat was so delighted his belly nearly flipped over, almost falling off the desk: "Faculty meeting, faculty meeting! Hahaha, boss, keep bragging, go on! Aren't you supposed to be invincible, irresistible? Girls' eyes light up when they see you, boys drool, but now you've hit a wall, huh? Hey Logan Sullivan, tell me, does it hurt to hit a wall?"

Logan Sullivan ground his molars, and for a moment really wanted to eat cat meat.

Ever since the Starved Wraith Incident ended, Logan Sullivan had been keeping in touch with William Sherman with ulterior motives. At first, he used his position to keep William Sherman updated on Quinn Barnes's case, but later, he shamelessly found all sorts of excuses to ask him out. Only, whether William Sherman was truly busy or deliberately avoiding him, it was harder to get him to meet than to have an audience with the emperor.