At that, the Candle Bearer shook his head and said helplessly, "You know I never drink."
Hearing that answer, the silver-eyed man looked bored. He couldn't help pouting as he glanced at the night view outside the window. "What a shame. We ought to be enjoying a day like this, but instead, we're stuck dealing with all this mundane business. Uncle Ghost, sometimes I really do feel sorry for you."
Suppressing his displeasure, the Candle Bearer said nothing.
Anyone who could sit in the Night Watch Chairman's seat was no ordinary man. In ability, strength, strategy, and intellect, he was among the best.
He simply had an unconventional way of thinking and an eccentric style, often doing things that ordinary people couldn't understand.
Over the years, there had been plenty of complaints within the Night Watch.
But, strangely enough, the current chairman seemed to have extraordinarily good luck. The people who led the troublemaking always died for one perfectly plausible reason or another: car accidents, illness, overindulgence, or even slipping and dying in the bath.
Naturally, conspiracy theorists suspected the current chairman, but no matter how thoroughly they investigated, they found no evidence. The deaths all seemed reasonable, as if the victims had simply been in poor health and had bad luck.
On top of that, the current chairman had once done something utterly outrageous. At a top-secret meeting of the Night Watch leadership, he had directly asked the head of the Execution Department to let him see his pistol.
At that, everyone immediately fell silent. Some people who were on bad terms with the chairman even waited to see him make a fool of himself.
Everyone knew the head of the Execution Department was a difficult man, a bona fide S-rank and one of the strongest in the entire