Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1032 (Second Update)

Stephanie fully agreed to the plan, which was one of the few times she directly endorsed Viktor von Doom.

She knew the nature of the white left best; after all, Columbia University, where she had studied, had nurtured the Frankfurt School, the earliest prototype of the modern white left. As the Minister of the Interior, she couldn't afford to waste her clerks and administrative staff on meaningless tasks. Latvinia still had much work to do, such as the census, vaccinations, distributing translation equipment and personal data terminals, establishing adult schools, building temporary housing, recruiting locals to form a legal department in conjunction with the Ministry of Military Affairs, and undertaking public health initiatives. She and her staff were responsible for handling these tasks. While she was attending late-night meetings, one of her clerks had already died from overwork, and she didn't even have time to sign the death certificate; even she herself needed to get some sleep.

This was the last document Salomon signed that day. From then on, liberals in the Balkans would experience the freest living environment in the world: the law of the jungle, where the strong prey on the weak and only the fittest survive. The leftists were too weak; if sent to the US, they wouldn't cause any trouble for the authorities, because they didn't even dare to commit crimes, only sit-ins, banners, and loud noises. If thrown onto the African savanna, those who survived nature's cruel selection could be taken to genetically modified warrior training camps for surgery. Just being able to walk off the operating table would be enough to contribute to the ideals they had betrayed. The Immortal City's attitude has always been to not waste a single resource; even an idiot could find a use for it.

The intelligence services acted as his eyes, keeping a close eye on the US Atlantic carrier strike groups sailing toward Europe.

Conflict needs time to brew, the flames of revenge are spreading, and everything is ready, awaiting only the order. Latveria is now in ruins, and Salomon will not allow his allies to betray him at this time. After a brief respite, the flames of war will reignite. According to the battle plan, this process will not last long—it's a completely new way of fighting, a way of fighting applicable throughout the universe. History is cyclical; no matter how advanced science and technology become, once both sides possess sufficient protective measures to withstand the opponent's long-range strikes, strong individual combat capabilities and close-quarters combat will once again become the factors determining the course of war, unless another epoch-making method of attack emerges. The Asgardians adopted this method of warfare because their troop deployment capabilities do not require long-range weapons; they can directly strike the operators of the enemy's long-range weapons.

This is also Salomon's forte in combat. Kamar-Taj's research on the Time Stone and Space Stone has built his entire knowledge system. Coupled with the Sorcerer Supreme's earnest teachings (which basically meant giving him books and asking him to study on his own), he has been training his abilities since childhood. Relying on his talent and hard work, he is known in Kamar-Taj for his erudition and combat prowess.

But before proceeding with the battle plan, Salomon had some things to do. Sixteen hours—that was the time he was allocating for himself, and also time for the others to prepare for the next phase.

Bayonetta slowly opened her eyes, bathed in the morning light filtering through the curtains. She sniffed the air, freeing herself from Joan's octopus-like embrace, and turned to look at the tall figure sitting at the head of the bed. She wasn't surprised by Salomon's size, for she already knew of his abilities; their private games had given her a thorough understanding of them.

"Your armor smells of blood," she said in a hoarse voice. "When are you going back to the manor?"

"It's three in the morning. There's a one-hour time difference between Latveria and Oxfordshire." Salomon supported Bayonetta's arm, offering her a pillow as a cushion. Although her fingers were covered in alloy and machinery, the witch clearly had no objection; instead, she was amazed by Salomon's precise control over the power armor. "I'm sorry I couldn't come home for dinner last night. I made myself some pork chops in the kitchen and prepared breakfast for today. I hope Dinah won't mind me taking her job."

"Have you been working in the study like this until now? Don't feel so guilty. You've already mentioned it. Jeanne and I didn't wait for you." The witch immediately saw through Salomon's emotions. "But that girl and Lorna caused quite a commotion in the manor last night because they couldn't see you. If you're not back on time tonight, remember to record a video beforehand. I can't tell them that you're the one who turned Europe upside down. Their talent for causing trouble is already strong enough; they don't need to learn from you."

Salomon smiled knowingly when he heard Bayonetta describe his behavior the previous day as mischief.

Only by the witch's side could he temporarily escape the suffocating weight of his work and the enslavement of his responsibilities. He knew his actions would harm countless innocent people, and he knew he had to do it to save more lives, but this was not a reason for him to be numb to the passing of life. Every moment he tormented his own soul, bearing the agony of his very being, moving forward without regret, head held high with pride. The laurel wreath bestowed upon him by Athena forbade him to bow his head, and the prophecy given by the Sorcerer Supreme forbade him to stop.

When the witch gently stroked his cheek, his frozen heart melted instantly, like ice under the blazing sun. His steely soul was forged into molten iron in a furnace, turning into hot tears that fell from the corners of his eyes. A snow-white curtain was draped over him, washing away the bloodstains from the shroud. The air seemed to quiet down. For a long time, he knelt before the bed with his eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the witch's palm. The two remained silent.

He didn't believe in gods, but the place where the witch resided was his chapel; only there could he repent. He could clearly feel that this body had become a prison, and the opportunities to dance with his loved ones would become increasingly rare. Without the witch, he didn't know how far he would stray from the definition of "human."

"Would you like a cup of hot tea?" she whispered in Salomon's ear.

"Tea?" Joan opened her eyes groggily, squinting like a little animal, pointing to the teacup emitting a sweet aroma. Bayonetta immediately realized that her eyes were practically useless; generally, it was still quite a while before she woke up. Like a sleepy child, Joan would often rush into the dining room, her white hair a mess, to eat and drink while Salomon and Bayonetta finished breakfast and were preparing for their morning exercise. Even after adopting that child or little Lorna and moving into the manor, she didn't change her terrible habits, making the most of every moment of sweet sleep.

"I added honey." Bayonetta had finished washing up, her body still steaming, and was putting on a black lace mini-dress for home. Salomon had brought tea and breakfast and then left. Jeanne could only smell the lingering metallic scent in the air, but even so, she could tell what it was, because the only other thing in the manor that smelled like that was the power armor. "We need to get ready for morning training," Bayonetta said. "Get up quickly, you're going too."

Joan of Arc stretched, glanced at the pair of high heels Bayonetta was holding, and asked, "Tango?"

Salomon learned all his other skills from the library in Kamar-Taj or from his foster mother Athena, but dance was a skill Bayonetta personally taught him. Every witch is the best dancer in the world, and Bayonetta is the best among them. She captured Salomon's heart through dances and battles that resembled dance. "Tango, just a step away. But we don't mind dancing Latin; he hasn't practiced Latin in a long time." Bayonetta smiled, her eyes crinkling, and Jeanne suddenly felt her tea taste bland. "Besides, we'll give the children a demonstration."

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(End of this chapter)