"...All right, I understand."
The middle-aged man with dazzling golden hair raised his eyebrows but calmly replied, "I'll be right there."
His face was as profound and rugged as a statue, with a pair of gem-like emerald eyes. Perhaps because of his elf lineage, he stood over one meter ninety, yet showed no sign of frailty. His spine was straight as a pine, his shoulders broad and solid. Merely sitting still, he was like a mountain, offering a strong sense of security.
Of course, if roles were reversed... it could also be a sense of oppression.
"What is it, George?"
His black-haired, black-eyed wife Nadia, who was beside him polishing their medals, looked up as her husband hung up the phone and casually asked, "Does our Grand Guardian have official duties again?"
"There's a clue regarding the Moriarty incident."
George Barton replied, "Do you remember Bran Boka?"
