"I have some things to take care of." The signal on Logan Sullivan's end seemed a bit poor, there was a burst of static, and he gave a reminder, "Don't wander off, remember to call your family to let them know you're safe, and stick with Carter Shaw."

As soon as Charles Gray hung up the phone, he heard a chilling clatter of clappers. He turned around abruptly, just in time to hear a gentle knock on the door of Director Logan Sullivan's office. Carter Shaw turned his head and said, neither too harsh nor too soft, "Come in."

The previously locked door creaked open, and a paper figure wearing a tall hat walked in, carrying a huge package. It respectfully placed the package in front of Carter Shaw, then pressed its palms together and muttered something in a low voice. Suddenly, changes occurred on Carter Shaw: several tattoo-like characters appeared on his cheeks, and heavy locks hung around his wrists, ankles, and even his neck. These things manifested on his body, then quickly fell off, dropping to the ground and rolling into a small ball, which the paper figure picked up.

Charles Gray stared in shock, mouth agape, and stood up.

The paper figure bowed to him, and Charles Gray hurriedly returned the gesture, accidentally bumping his head on the monitor on Logan Sullivan's desk.

Carter Shaw glanced at the ghost messenger with a casual attitude, then raised his eyebrows and opened the package in front of him. Most of the items inside were made of bone, faintly shimmering with an indescribable bluish-purple, cold light. They were all things he was familiar with... things he had used habitually three hundred years ago.

Carter Shaw swept his eyes over them, frowned, and asked in a rather unpleasant tone, "Where is our Lord?"

The ghost messenger, apparently still chastened by the judge's scolding the previous day, shook its head to indicate it couldn't speak, then bowed to the two of them in a gesture of ignorance, and wobbled out.

At this moment, Soulwarden had already arrived at the foot of Kunlun Mountain. He took a deep breath; the air was thin and cold, carrying a desolate heaviness as if from ancient times. It was already dawn, yet the mountaintop was as black as ink, the sky still hanging low.

Amidst the wind, there was a faint sound like weeping, eerie and cold, as if the slumbering souls underground had been awakened by something.

He couldn't help but reach for the soul-slaying blade at his waist. Just then, Soulwarden heard footsteps behind him. He didn't turn around, only said calmly, "You're here? Then let's go."

"Wait a bit," a familiar voice said. "The person I'm supposed to guide hasn't arrived yet. I was worried about flight delays, so I came early."

Soulwarden spun around abruptly, only to see Logan Sullivan bundled up in full mountaineering gear, a black cat at his feet. He was holding a cup of coffee, and as he spoke, he took a big bite out of a hamburger, waved at him with a cheeky grin, and said, "Have you eaten? I still have a hash brown."

Chapter 72: The Merit Brush …

Soulwarden—William Sherman's hand at his side began to tremble uncontrollably, a surge of anger and anxiety overwhelming him.

Logan Sullivan had made him this angry, yet seemed completely oblivious... or perhaps he knew and was just pretending not to. He casually found a stone with less snow, sat down, finished his coffee, and used his teeth to pick out the cheese from the hamburger and toss it away.

William Sherman stood facing the wind, silent, until Logan Sullivan finished his unruly breakfast. Only then did he lower his voice deliberately and ask softly, "What did I tell you?"

"Don't agree to anything the Underworld says, wait until you get home." Logan Sullivan wiped his mouth.

William Sherman lowered his voice even further, enunciating each word: "Then why are you here?"

Logan Sullivan looked around and, seeing no one but the black cat, walked over and hugged the Soulwarden, who was cold as an ice sculpture. He stood on tiptoe a little and gently kissed the top of his head, covered by a huge hood. "Are you angry?"

Darrin Grant silently turned away, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

William Sherman didn't move, just stood there stiffly. "I see you won't be satisfied until you've made me furious. I wish, I wish..."

Logan Sullivan let go of him and looked at his face, shrouded in black mist. For a moment, Logan Sullivan could find where his eyes were, could even feel his gaze. Logan Sullivan sighed, took William Sherman's hand, squeezed it, then let go, and said very sincerely in a low voice, "When we get back, you can make me kneel on a keyboard or a washboard, okay? Even a motherboard is fine. I won't dare do it again, really... And honestly, this time it wasn't my fault. Ask Darrin Grant, it was all because of that brat Carter Shaw, who let the Underworld get something on me..."

Clearly, it was you who got something on the Underworld, and let Carter Shaw get rid of the merit shackle in the process—the black cat ignored him, just started washing its face with its paw as if no one else was there—if this man, full of nonsense, could be trusted, pigs could climb trees.

"Besides, it's too late for me to go back now," Logan Sullivan spread his hands. "Hey, really, don't be mad. If you get sick from anger, I'll feel terrible... William Sherman? William, Xiao Wei, darling... Please, don't ignore me, say something."

William Sherman said nothing, his fist clenched so tightly inside his sleeve that it hurt.

The word "darling" made Darrin Grant shiver from head to tail, as if having a spasm, then quietly moved a few steps away, feeling he couldn't bear to listen any longer.

Logan Sullivan shamelessly tried to move closer, but suddenly stopped, his expression returning to normal in an instant as he stepped back five paces. A moment later, a group of ghost messengers arrived, escorting the judge, Ox-Head and Horse-Face, Black and White Impermanence, and others. Behind them was a large crowd of people of unknown origin—some from the demon clan, a few humans, and even some with a divine aura, possibly immortals. With a glance, Logan Sullivan could tell that none of these arrivals were ordinary.

Logan Sullivan and Soulwarden stood on opposite sides. Soulwarden still showed no emotion, while Logan Sullivan's face was expressionless—whether from the cold or the high-altitude hypoxia, his face was pale, even his lips devoid of color. When he looked back and saw them, he seemed to frown slightly, but then nodded calmly and said politely, "Morning."

The judge couldn't tell how long Logan Sullivan had been there, nor could he gauge the atmosphere between the two.

Letting Soulwarden meet Logan Sullivan alone first was indeed part of their plan—after all, now that they were at the foot of Kunlun, Soulwarden would never let Logan Sullivan go back alone. He would have to take him up the mountain, and with his beloved right there, even if Soulwarden harbored any rebellious thoughts, he would have to restrain himself and would never dare make a move at such a critical moment.

But in doing so, the Underworld was blatantly provoking Soulwarden, thoroughly offending him.

The judge looked at Soulwarden's increasingly dark aura with growing alarm.

His title of "judge" sounded impressive, but in reality, with the Ten Yama Kings above him, he had little real power. Sometimes, even the judge himself felt like he was just a scapegoat and errand boy—most of those in charge of the Underworld now were the younger generation, who only half-understood the old ways. In the judge's view, they were just a bunch of idiots, holed up in their little patch of the Underworld, thinking they held all the power.

Logan Sullivan was one thing, but someone like Soulwarden—if you can't win him over, and keep butting heads with him, don't you know that a biting dog doesn't bark? If you really push him, forget the Underworld, even the thirty-three heavens might not be enough to withstand his blade.

The judge forced a nervous laugh and stammered, "My Lord, you arrived early."

Then he turned to Soulwarden, bowed deeply, almost to the ground, and said respectfully, "This humble one greets—"

But before he could finish, Soulwarden turned and walked up the mountain without a word—he didn't even bother with basic courtesy, slapping the judge in the face in front of all the ghost messengers, clearly furious.

The judge dared not protest. He forced a bitter smile and quickly called everyone to follow, knowing that as long as Soulwarden didn't make a move, it was already a mercy for Logan Sullivan's sake.

The sky grew darker, with winds and thunder churning above. Looking up, one could vaguely see a black dragon leaping among the clouds.

Kunlun Mountain was perpetually frozen, towering and jagged, piercing straight into the clouds. No birds flew over its peaks, no trace of people could be found on its paths.

As they entered the mountain area, Darrin Grant, who had been perched on Logan Sullivan's shoulder, suddenly became restless, as if recognizing something.

All the previous doubts and speculations vanished the moment Logan Sullivan saw Kunlun Mountain.

He had never been to Kunlun, had never even imagined that this snowy mountain would have anything to do with him. Yet the moment he set foot on Kunlun's land after a sleepless night and a long journey, Logan Sullivan suddenly understood what "blood ties" truly meant.

The feeling was very subtle, as if a data cable had found a port deep within his soul, connecting him to the mountain range.

For a moment, Logan Sullivan forgot all his complicated calculations, forgot the monsters and spirits around him, and even forgot about William Sherman, who was still angry and wouldn't even look at him.