Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1044 The Funeral of St. Paul (Second Update)

Peggy Carter's coffin was placed in St. Paul's Cathedral in London, with a choir singing hymns. The young voices resonated against the exquisite gilded murals and domed ceiling, gradually amplifying into a rich, overlapping chant. Steve Rogers walked on the right, leading the other pallbearers to the altar. They placed the coffin on the pedestal, with Peggy's portrait and wreaths beside it. Unlike most American funerals, the coffin wasn't opened and piled with flowers for mourning; instead, following Protestant tradition, it was covered with white linen embroidered with gold crosses at the four corners, as if the officiant didn't want anyone to see anything other than the image of the young woman in military uniform in the black-and-white portrait. The pastor stood on the pulpit beneath the blue stained-glass windows, waiting for the church members to take their seats and welcoming them with a brief prayer. After a lengthy ceremony including readings and sermons from the Psalms and Gospels, memorizing the general creed, general intercession, the first part of the Eucharist, playing music, and praying for the dead, the pastor said, "Now, please welcome Sharon Carter to the stage to give a speech."

Natasha Romanoff didn't stay long in the church. After conveying Salomon's condolences to Steve Rogers, she left early for some fresh air. She had deliberately chosen an inconspicuous seat, so few people noticed her as she left. Natasha climbed the transept steps to the side aisle outside the famous Baroque dome of St. Paul's Cathedral, gazing at the Thames River and the uniquely shaped Millennium Bridge spanning it. Peggy Carter's passing was regrettable, yet also relieved, as if the day had finally arrived.

St. Paul's Cathedral will not be open to the public today, as all the schedules are occupied by this ceremony. On the one hand, Peggy Carter's influence and achievements have allowed her to enjoy royal treatment, and on the other hand, many of those attending the funeral have close ties with intelligence agencies, with MI5 and MI6 being the most numerous. If it weren't for the Hydra rebellion, there would probably be even more people crowding into the nave today.

These people were not suited to appear in the public eye, and the identities of many were kept secret, even at the funeral. Many at the funeral recognized Steve Rogers, but due to the current political climate, the funeral proceedings, and the impending signing of the Sokovia Accords, few greeted him. In just one month, the world had been turned upside down. Natasha Romanov knew that news of the silent destruction of the three carrier strike groups had leaked, and the current situation did not allow NATO to investigate where the information had come from; they could only passively bear the consequences. Even those in the know harbored certain ulterior motives at the funeral, an atmosphere Natasha Romanov found most unbearable, because they all believed they could hold the Avengers in their hands.

They would never suspect that there was another hunter lurking beneath the surface, Natasha thought.

"I assure you, the CIA... absolutely not..." A few indistinct words drifted to her ears on the breeze. Natasha instinctively shrank into the shadows of the pillars until she recognized the voice from her memory. "Ah, Ms. Romanoff, I never imagined there was anyone else who disliked funerals as much as I do. Peggy Carter was a truly respectable elder, but funerals are too long, too sorrowful, and for those who knew her, this day was inevitable. I'm sorry I can't pay my respects to your colleague; he was a great legend, a legend of this world."

The man in the black suit, with a high hairline and an Oxford accent, discreetly tucked his phone into his inner pocket, as if it were just a used handkerchief. He casually changed the subject, "Have you visited St. Paul's Cathedral? If you're interested, I can take you to see William Holman Hunt's *The Light of the World*. Although it's not on display now, I can still use my limited influence to invite you to see the painting. Unlike the previous two versions at Keble College, Oxford, and the Manchester Art Gallery, this one in St. Paul's Cathedral is Holman Hunt's masterpiece. *Saint Martin Parts His Cloak* and *Penrose Drawings* are among St. Paul's Cathedral's most famous cultural heritages; even if you're attending a funeral, you shouldn't miss such cultural treasures."

"Hello, Mr. Holmes," Natasha Romanoff said curtly. She knew who this man was, what power he wielded, and she knew he was trying to figure out how much she had overheard. But now wasn't the time to pry. She could tell from his expression that the phone call hadn't been pleasant. If she broadened her thinking further, Sharon Carter, nominally a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent but actually a CIA agent, might be here partly because of negotiations between the British and American governments. Considering the Immortal City's intelligence capabilities, she suspected that Immortal City spies might also be in London. However, Natasha Romanoff had already given up on counterintelligence. The Avengers base was crammed with countless CIA and FBI agents; with the Avengers facing a split, all of this was meaningless.

She was now only focused on resolving another issue that could push the division to an even worse level. The current split within the Avengers was merely a matter of differing ideologies; it could potentially escalate into a life-or-death struggle. She could tolerate the former, but she absolutely could not tolerate the latter. Completely oblivious to everything else, Natasha Romanoff had no interest in the civil servant's long-winded ramblings; she hadn't even bothered to discern what he was actually saying.

Mycroft Holmes chuckled awkwardly, realizing his attempt to confuse Natasha Romanov had failed. "I believe lingering here too long would be disrespectful to the dead; I cannot miss the Requiem." He walked past Natasha Romanov toward the entrance to the side corridor. "Are you here to say your final farewells?"

"I'm going to Vienna."

“I remember now, there’s a private jet at Heathrow Airport that’s ready to take off at any time.” Mycroft maintained his smile. “You should hurry up and leave, unless you’re waiting for the post-funeral reception. If you are, that’s understandable, since the reception at St. Paul’s Cathedral is definitely much better than the food on that private jet provided by the White House. If it were me, I would never touch the bread they serve.”

Faced with the cabinet secretary's ingratiating remarks and boastful display of intelligence control, Natasha Romanov offered only a bland response. "It's a pity I didn't have time for the buffet, and I'm also curious how bad the bread on that plane could be."

"Then good luck." Mycroft bowed politely in farewell and walked down the stairs without looking back.

The call from the Immortal City liaison came at an inopportune time. Their exchange of intelligence was so brazen that Mycroft was worried about their secrecy. Every call he made as a high-ranking cabinet secretary was recorded, and although he himself was the one reviewing those records and had the authority to directly interfere with MI5, he genuinely didn't want anyone to discover a long, unknown call in his log, even if he explained it was a harassing call from an insurance company—arguing with an insurance salesman wasn't exactly dignified.

Mycroft Holmes did not consider his actions to be treason, but rather a means of "offshore diplomacy."

He was a civil servant of the British Empire, not a politician who rose to power through votes. His job was to ensure the survival of the British Empire, while politicians only wanted fame, money, and status. In his view, revealing the US military's operations in Europe to Latvinia was highly beneficial to Britain, which wanted to maintain its independence in Europe. He couldn't openly prevent the cabinet from condemning Latvinia, but he could still ensure that the Prime Minister and cabinet politicians wouldn't do anything irreversible.

He vividly remembered the name of the sword Salomon held, though legally it was too ancient to trace, the legend surrounding it still tore Britain apart from the House of Windsor. Mycroft Holmes was loyal to the Queen and the British Empire; he was the last guardian of the British Empire, a knight and servant protecting the Queen. He didn't want a glittering, tyrannical boss, as that would drastically lower the living standards of civil servants, making it worse than under Margaret Thatcher. Thinking this, he walked down the steps with his head held high, facing the increasingly loud requiem. However, this good mood lasted only until the moment he saw the news notification on his phone; even he hadn't expected things to take such a sharp turn for the worse.

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(End of this chapter)