Su Ming had no intention of explaining this ability to suddenly manifest matter. Smiling, he conjured another gift box so Howard could watch it again.
"So? Did you figure anything out?" Deathstroke placed the pistol intended as a gift into the box and asked with a grin, "Take a guess—what kind of ability do I have? Though there's no prize even if you guess right."
The fireplace cast a wonderfully warm glow. Outside the window, Big Ben, the London Eye, and the Thames River were all visible nearby, presenting a tranquil, peaceful scene. Howard had a good eye for locations; this floor and position were perfect for enjoying the view.
Unfortunately, Su Ming was not particularly interested in the scenery ordinary people liked. He would have preferred to see London as it had been two hundred years ago—when British gentlemen lined up every day to dump their chamber pots into the river.
"Heh, then let me take a guess. First of all, your ability definitely isn't magic." Howard eliminated one possibility first. He picked up a cigar from the small round table, clipped its end, and toyed with it in his hand. "Because the Ancient One said your talent for magic is practically negative. You're an absolute super Squib."
He seemed to find that especially amusing. Although he did not know much about magic, the contrast of the Sorcerer Supreme—supposedly Earth's strongest spellcaster—actually being a Squib was still hilarious to him.
Yes, because he intended to do business in this world, Howard had looked into the Magic World as well. At the very least, he knew what a Squib was.
"There's no need to keep bringing that up. Even without magic, not a single Mage on Earth can beat me. Just say I'm the strongest, that's all."
The Sorcerer Supreme,