The judge quickly weighed the situation in his mind: which was more important, the matter of Carter Shaw or the issue with the Merit Pen? As long as he wasn’t a fool, he could naturally figure it out. Although the underworld had long taken advantage of the custom of delaying verdicts, at this juncture, it wouldn’t do to offend Logan Sullivan over such a trivial matter. So, with a tactful tone, he said, “Mr. Carter’s merit shackle should have expired already, it’s just that we still have some minor paperwork to finish on our end. Since you’ve brought it up, I’ll make the call now and have it removed for him.”

“Oh?” As soon as Logan Sullivan heard this, he immediately took the opportunity to press further, his expression and tone turning cold. “The way you put it, I thought maybe his merits weren’t sufficient, or that he’d done something behind my back again. In fact, I just had him tied up and locked next door for reflection—what a mess. I’d say your department’s efficiency is a bit lacking, causing such misunderstandings. Anyone who didn’t know better might think the underworld was deliberately stalling.”

The judge was speechless, almost wanting to bang his head against the wall in front of Logan Sullivan. He had no idea when he’d offended this difficult lord, but today it felt like the other was deliberately toying with him: a couple of blows to the head, then a sweet date to give him hope, a short break, and before he could catch his breath, another round of “bang bang” to the head.

Logan Sullivan waved his hand, seemingly helpless, pulled out a sheet of letter paper from his desk, picked up a pen, and began to write as he spoke: “Forget it, Old Chu is still sulking with me, and I really don’t have the time right now. But what you mentioned is a big deal, and I can’t let it get delayed on my watch—I can’t bear that kind of blame for the ages—”

The judge, already tormented by him, was on high alert, feeling as if he were in a horror movie: whenever blue skies and white clouds appeared, a monster was sure to follow. He watched Logan Sullivan with growing anxiety.

Sure enough, Logan Sullivan continued, “I can’t go, and you all don’t dare to take the Soulbound Order. But I have a perfect solution: just find someone who dares to take it, and then…”

The judge was immediately filled with foreboding. He looked down and struggled to decipher Logan Sullivan’s wild, doctor’s-prescription-like handwriting: “To Lord Soulwarden, greetings upon reading this letter.”

The judge nearly slipped off his chair.

Of course, it wasn’t that the underworld didn’t dare to take the Soulbound Order; it was just that the ten kings had discussed it and decided that, with three of the four sacred artifacts already revealed, the Reincarnation Sundial was probably in Spirit Mask’s hands, but the Terra-Spike was still missing. Although Soulwarden couldn’t be bothered to stoop to their level, he wasn’t stupid and certainly wouldn’t hand it over voluntarily. Who could guarantee that Soulwarden didn’t want to do whatever Spirit Mask was planning? If he turned against them, who would they complain to?

Right now, the underworld didn’t have anyone capable of getting involved in the power struggle between those two great beings, and they were suspicious of Soulwarden, so they’d thought to use Logan Sullivan to keep him in check.

But the master of the Soulbound Order was so cunning that even Auntie Rowan couldn’t poke out all his schemes—he was not so easily used. With just that one line, the judge felt that Logan Sullivan had seen through all their plans and was treating him like a fool.

He didn’t know how much Logan Sullivan actually knew, or whether he’d been in private contact with Soulwarden, but his own limited cunning was already exposed. He couldn’t help but darken his face: “What does the Lord mean by this?”

Logan Sullivan replied innocently, “Nothing at all. Does your lordship think this isn’t appropriate?”

The judge stared at him coldly.

Logan Sullivan spread his hands, looking even more surprised: “Hmm? What, isn’t Lord Soulwarden a ghost immortal who rose to prominence from your underworld?”

The judge: “……”

Logan Sullivan had asked yet another question he couldn’t answer.

After a moment of bitter silence, the judge finally understood what it meant to “cover one lie with a thousand more,” especially when the other party kept poking at the holes. The two of them sat in awkward silence for half a minute before the judge stiffly said, “That demon was born before the Merit Tree beneath the Yellow Springs, and has some connection to Soulwarden. He must avoid suspicion.”

“Oh,” Logan Sullivan’s mischievous smile faded, and he nodded. “Just now you were telling me not to gossip about the immortals, so why be so hypocritical? If you don’t trust him, just say so. It’s not like I can’t understand—this really is my fault for handling things poorly.”

With that, he crumpled up the letter and tossed it aside. “I’ll go with you.”

The judge was stunned by this pie falling from the sky.

The next moment, Logan Sullivan pulled out his phone and dialed the HR department: “Hey, Zach Warren, it’s me. You saw my text just now, right? Good, print a copy and bring it up for me, let our guest have a look.”

Zach Warren, well-trained, floated in within three minutes, carrying a long list. When the door opened, the judge saw a crowd of big and small ghosts floating in the hallway, all blocking the door and peering inside, making the judge’s scalp tingle.

Logan Sullivan propped his chin with one hand and pushed the list forward with the other: “Speaking of wrongful convictions, there have been quite a few in recent years—some delayed by paperwork, some simply sentenced too harshly. I say, why not settle them all today, judge? Oh, and when Carter Shaw was first shackled with the merit shackle, didn’t he leave some ‘old belongings’ with you?”

The judge: “……”

Logan Sullivan: “Hmm?”

The judge squeezed out a sentence through gritted teeth: “Of course, I’ll return them.”

Logan Sullivan was still unsatisfied: “When? If you’re in a hurry to leave, at least give us time to pack.”

The judge finally couldn’t stand to see him any longer, tossed out a “before dawn,” rolled up the list, and left without looking back.

Logan Sullivan watched his hasty retreat, a sarcastic smile on his face. Using the spark from burning joss paper, he lit a cigarette, then stubbed it out and opened the window for some air.

Darrin Grant sidled up to the window and looked up at him: “Didn’t Soulwarden tell you not to agree?”

“What are you peeking at?” Logan Sullivan shot it a look, then turned serious. “There’s no room for negotiation on this—I have to go.”

William Sherman, that man, appeared gentle and courteous, but in reality, he was unshakable and stubborn. He simply didn’t want to lower himself to argue over many things. There was no reason to let the underworld keep doubting and scheming against him. Logan Sullivan felt that he seemed to be steadfastly fulfilling some kind of duty, and as if he’d already mapped out an outcome for himself. This gave Logan Sullivan a vague sense of foreboding.

He reached out and stroked Darrin Grant’s head against the fur, then, with practiced skill, dodged the cat’s paw swipe, saying offhandedly, “I want the Merit Pen, to bring back as a betrothal gift…”

Darrin Grant bristled: “Speak human!”

“To deal with petty people, you have to use petty methods.” Logan Sullivan’s face darkened. “A new King of Hell every hundred years, and this one’s only been in office for less than twenty years, but things are already getting out of hand. I don’t want to provoke them, but they keep making trouble for me… So, I’ll take you with me to Highspire. The summit of Highspire Peak is a forbidden place for the gods, not their backyard playground.”

Darrin Grant jumped onto his shoulder: “What about Carter Shaw?”

“Let him be. He actually dared to yell at his boss.” Logan Sullivan said this, but still couldn’t help pulling out his keys, quietly pushing open his office door, and peeking inside.

He saw Charles Gray had already fallen asleep from exhaustion, but hadn’t dared to lie on the bed—he was just slumped over Logan Sullivan’s desk. The Soulbound Order pressing down on Carter Shaw was something neither of them could do anything about for now, so the poor Corpse King could only sit there. But he had a blanket draped over him, and, perhaps to keep him from getting bored, Charles Gray had even given him headphones and queued up more than a dozen movies in the media player.

Carter Shaw gave Logan Sullivan a cold, disdainful glance, treating him like air, then turned his attention back to the computer screen.

Logan Sullivan locked the door behind him: “Serving this overgrown adolescent like he’s the Empress Dowager—damn it, Charles Gray is such a fool, I really pity his uncle for having such a disappointing nephew.”

The next day, Charles Gray was woken up by a call from Logan Sullivan. Rubbing his eyes, he was surprised to find Carter Shaw already standing, the blanket now covering himself, and Carter Shaw standing by the window with a grave expression, frowning deeply as he stared outside—the sky was pitch black, but the streetlights, which should have been on by now, were already out.

Dawn had not come.

On the phone, Logan Sullivan asked simply, “Xiao Guo, are you up?”

Charles Gray rubbed his eyes hard and answered.

Logan Sullivan’s tone was uncharacteristically gentle: “In a bit, some guests from ‘the other side’ will be coming to No. 4 Guangming Road to deliver something. Keep an eye on your Brother Carter, make sure he stays calm—it’s not time to fall out with them yet, so don’t go overboard. You don’t need to say much to them, but don’t show any weakness either, understand?”

Charles Gray nodded blankly, “Chief Sullivan, where are you?”