After he finished speaking, the smile on his face vanished as if it had been taken off, fading away with incredible speed. He dialed the number for 4 Guangming Road: “Zach Warren? Are you still awake? Sorry to trouble you, but pull the curtains tighter—yes, I know, Julian West had an incident. I’ll send you a picture, have everyone in the office take a look at it. If anyone can identify what it is, even better. Get Old Barnes to help prepare two cars. We’ll head out in half an hour to the scene.”

Just then, the chandelier in the room swayed slightly. Blackstone felt a faint tremor—not very strong—but after this barely noticeable quake passed, a new email notification sounded both on the phone and outside the call.

On the phone, Zach Warren said, “Wait, Director Sullivan, there’s an email from Julian West.”

Outside the call, William Sherman turned his head: “The person you were looking for seems to have sent an email.”

Logan Sullivan narrowed his eyes and said to Zach Warren, “Don’t hang up yet.”

What Julian West sent was a video, recorded as a selfie on his phone.

This self-proclaimed selfie king, who was always taking pictures of himself, had excellent filming skills—there was hardly any hand shake, and the footage was always steady. But in this video, the image kept shaking, Julian West was panting heavily, and the screen was swaying violently up and down. He was either walking fast or running.

He was a bit out of breath, but his gasps were suppressed to be very quiet. Julian West’s hands were shaking badly, the camera pointed at his face, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out. Logan Sullivan frowned, struggling to read his lips: “I… lost my voice, my ears… are starting to lose hearing too, numb… no, my fingers are stiff, I have a bad feeling.”

Next, Julian West’s hand shook, and the camera moved away from his face, pointing at a high-end villa district ahead—it was the same resort where the life-exchange incident had happened.

At first glance, the houses looked beautiful, but the moment Logan Sullivan saw them, he felt something was off.

At this moment, the sound of Julian West tapping the back of his phone with his finger came through in the video. The sound was very loud, a bit harsh, and these few knocks only highlighted the deathly silence of the entire villa complex.

Julian West extended a finger and wrote, stroke by stroke, in front of the camera: “Empty, not a single person.” Logan Sullivan noticed that the second joint of his finger was stiff as stone, unable to bend at all, and had taken on a strange bluish-gray color.

Then Julian West paused, pointed the camera at his own face, gestured to his ear, and shook his head gravely. He instinctively took out a string of prayer beads, closed his eyes, and his lips moved silently, as if he was trying to calm himself by chanting.

A moment later, when he opened his eyes again, he seemed stunned, then suddenly squinted with effort. The camera shook violently, and the video cut off there.

“He probably realized at the end that he couldn’t see clearly anymore, so he hurriedly sent the video,” Logan Sullivan deduced. “Maybe because of his vision, he tapped the wrong thing and set it as a scheduled email, which is why we’re only seeing it now, or…”

“Or for some reason, the email just couldn’t be sent until now,” William Sherman added.

Logan Sullivan turned his head, meeting his gaze. After a moment, the two of them softly said at the same time, “The earthquake just now.”

As soon as they finished speaking, another faint tremor came, like an ordinary aftershock. Footsteps and voices began to echo in the hallway. Logan Sullivan lived on a higher floor, so the tremor felt stronger, and people started to panic and run outside.

Logan Sullivan had experienced earthquakes before. He stood still and didn’t move: “Don’t you think this ‘earthquake’ is a bit strange? Tectonic movement usually feels more like swaying… but this feels more like trembling.”

William Sherman lowered his eyes, sensing carefully for a moment: “It feels like something is happening in the underworld.”

“The underworld?”

William Sherman’s expression grew grave. Logan Sullivan thought for a moment, then crouched down, loaded his gun with special bullets, tucked a dagger engraved with talismans into his pant leg, emptied his wallet and stuffed the cash into his pocket, and filled the wallet with a thick stack of talisman papers.

Finally, he pulled out a piece of wood from the drawer, carved into a plaque. This was the real “Soulbound Order,” a piece of bark shaved from the trunk of the true sacred tree. The moment the words “Soulbound Order” touched Logan Sullivan’s fingers, a burst of dazzling sparks erupted.

“Let’s go.” He stuffed the Soulbound Order into his pocket and said decisively.

Twenty minutes later, the two of them arrived at 4 Guangming Road. After a while, two SUVs drove out of the courtyard at the same time, heading straight for the place where Julian West had his accident.

Blackstone was less than three hundred kilometers from the scene. It was a four-hour drive on the highway. The local area had no real industry, just mountains, water, and hot springs—a typical tourist and convalescent town. The surrounding villages had all moved away for the sake of the environment, so only buyers and service staff came and went each day.

The town was too quiet, almost like a dead city. At the entrance, a large delivery truck was parked awkwardly by the roadside, loaded with fresh vegetables, nothing missing, but the driver’s door was open and the driver was nowhere to be seen.

“There must be a lot of service staff from nearby towns and villages coming here every day,” Logan Sullivan said. “Greg Jr., get out and drive the other car yourself. Go into town and ask the local police if there have been any reports of missing persons from families in the past few days.”

Charles Gray was stunned. He keenly sensed the strangeness of the town. Just standing there made his legs tremble. Director Sullivan was clearly sending him away to protect him, which made Charles Gray first breathe a sigh of relief, but then his heart leapt even higher for some unknown reason.

“Take Holly Harlow with you,” Logan Sullivan said.

Holly Harlow was not as easy to order around as Greg Jr., and immediately objected: “I’m not going! I’m not going anywhere!”

Logan Sullivan took out a cigarette, put it in his mouth, and didn’t even look at her: “What, you haven’t officially resigned yet, and my words don’t count anymore?”

Holly Harlow: “I…”

Logan Sullivan was always one to have the final say. Without further discussion, he got back in the car and shut the door: “Old Carter, you come ride in this one.”

Holly Harlow stood there stiffly, glaring furiously at Logan Sullivan.

Before getting in, Carter Shaw gently patted her on the shoulder: “Go on, Director Sullivan has his reasons. You can’t help much here, and Greg Jr. might have trouble communicating. Help him out.”

Before Holly Harlow could say anything, that bastard Logan Sullivan had already floored the gas and driven off.

Chapter 97 Soulbound Lamp …

“Bastard!” Holly Harlow bent down and picked up a stone from the ground. As a female snake demon, she was no delicate little girl—her strength was considerable, and she was an expert at smashing things, always accurate and ruthless. With a loud “clang,” she smashed it against the back of their official car, chipping off a clear patch of paint.

Logan Sullivan didn’t care, nor did he stop the car.

Just then, Holly Harlow’s phone rang in her pocket. She took it out and saw a text from Carter Shaw: “Director Sullivan asked me to tell you, the money for damaging public property will be deducted from your bonus this month. You can throw a few more if you want—if your bonus is gone, we’ll deduct it from your salary. Take it easy, or you’ll have nothing left when you resign.”

Holly Harlow squeezed the edge of her phone until it bent, then shouted, “Logan Sullivan, you bastard!”

Charles Gray looked on, pale as a sheet, at this colleague who dared to defy authority so blatantly. His fragile little heart was thoroughly shocked.

Holly Harlow, eyes red, turned and glared at him: “What are you looking at? Get moving!”

Charles Gray hurried after her.

Holly Harlow snapped again: “Are you a man or not? If you are, go drive! Have you ever seen a man make a woman drive?”

Charles Gray blinked, realizing she was just venting her anger—driving a car wasn’t like using a public restroom, there was no rule about men and women. Since Holly Harlow wasn’t even human in his mind, Charles Gray wasn’t too afraid, so he honestly said, “Sister Zhu, actually you’re not a wo—”

Holly Harlow’s face turned as cold as water, like a king cobra about to strike, tongue almost flicking out. Charles Gray instinctively sensed danger and dove into the car without another word.

But she didn’t get in herself. She slammed the passenger door and waved at Charles Gray: “Go on by yourself, I’m going to find Logan Sullivan.”

Charles Gray never got a chance to voice a complete opinion—Holly Harlow was already gone.

In Logan Sullivan’s car, both Darrin Grant and Carter Shaw were actually quite uncomfortable—because there was now a true god in the front seat. Ever since they learned he was the Soulwarden, neither the Corpse King nor the Old Cat could ever recapture the carefree, mischievous spirit they once had.