Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1112, Chapter 1108: A Long Journey Through the Snow (Second Update)

This wasn't because the others abandoned her; rather, they had devised a strategy on the Quinjet. Regardless of whether they returned to Western society, Steve Rogers wanted to clear Bucky Barnes' name and gain Wakanda's forgiveness. One of them had to stay behind as a hostage to convince Latvinia that the others would return after investigating the truth in Siberia.

Bucky Barnes originally wanted to be a hostage, but Natasha Romanov volunteered to stay. She believed that with her friendship with the Emperor of Latvia and her understanding of Latvia, she could find an opportunity to gather intelligence and escape even if the others did not return.

The idea was excellent, but her plan was thwarted as soon as she arrived in Latvinia. She didn't even get to exchange a few words with the Latvinian emperor before being taken to her room, as if the emperor knew exactly what she wanted to say and do. Her equipment was confiscated, her communication devices were searched and taken away by the sorority, and even her tight leather jacket was taken by the girls, leaving her only with her underwear. The severity of the search even exceeded the invasive procedures of some prisons holding serious criminals.

She turned on the TV, watching the news anchor's voice as she half-closed her eyes while washing up. Afterward, she put on a 19th-century-style casual outfit from her wardrobe. This was the most practical thing she had on hand; the rest of her clothes were either evening gowns or much heavier courtly garments. Although there was no corset, the white lace adorning the cuffs and neckline, along with the wide skirt, still annoyed her considerably, not to mention the exquisite jewelry prepared for her. She really didn't know whether these items, once part of the Latvian royal collection, would rather be displayed in a museum or worn on her body.

Perhaps the Emperor of Latvinia also felt that a luxurious bedroom alone couldn't imprison a nimble lady, hence his choice of this sweet method to restrict her movements—a handwritten letter from the Emperor in the jewelry collection cabinet referred to the jewels as appropriate compensation, meaning these priceless jewels were now her property. However, Natasha Romanov didn't particularly like it; she preferred ordinary, practical clothing to being a dress rack laden with jewels.

Hammurabi waited for a long time in the drawing room, and when Natasha Romanov came out of the bedroom, he praised her taste in clothing in an extremely polite tone.

"When can I leave here?" She looked up, interrupting Hammurabi's perfunctory greeting. It was rare for ordinary people to see the Praetorian Guard remove their armor, and Natasha Romanov was no exception. She noticed that the Guard's boots sank deeply into the Bohemian carpet, and the wooden floor groaned under their weight with every step. "Your master wouldn't want to keep me imprisoned here indefinitely; that's not his style. As far as I know, he's the kind of person who, once he finds a use for something, doesn't care about anything else. He won't let me stay here for no reason."

"My Lord has other plans for you, Ms. Romanov," Hammurabi said tactfully. He seemed to realize that his continued presence would inevitably damage the expensive wooden floor, so he had to speak quickly to leave the room as soon as possible. However, due to etiquette, he could only finish speaking while still standing. "I am staying here to express my Lord's high regard for you. Soon, my Lord's promises will be fulfilled, and you will obtain the peaceful life you have always dreamed of."

Natasha Romanov crossed her arms and slowly opened them, asking, "Your age? What is your real age?" she said. "I've heard your masters boast that you, the Imperial Guard, are immortal beings, unaffected by aging and disease."

"Yes, in Earth time and excluding the transformation process, it will take about 213 years," Hammurabi said. "The first phase of training will take about 20 years, with a survival rate of only one in a thousand."

"That's impossible. As far as I know, the first Imperial Guard has only been around for a year."

"Do not measure the time of other star systems by Earth's time, madam. My Lord's power is sufficient to reverse time and allow matter to traverse galaxies. You and your Avengers companions have always regarded My Lord as a sorcerer, but in reality, His power far surpasses your imagination." Hammurabi pointed out the window. "What if My Lord made this planet rotate according to His command? What if My Lord stretched out His hand to block the sunlight, plunging a nation into eternal night? Order would collapse, and everyone would have to kneel before His throne. This nation—Latvinia—exists only because of My Lord's mercy, because He built an empire using mortal rules rather than His power. Madam Romanov, you have always thought of My Lord as a mortal like you, but that is merely a mortal's perspective unable to comprehend His power and benevolence. Do not question Him, madam, for He is always right."

"Have you heard how Hammurabi boasted about it?"

The Emperor of Latvia laughed loudly inside the armored vehicle. Ice and snow accumulated in the gaps of his armor, then melted from the heat of the machinery, condensing at the edges before melting again and dripping into the vehicle. "I didn't expect him to be so gifted in pretense," he sang. "Perhaps I should have sent him to the negotiations instead of those former politicians to the banquet? I believe that would have resulted in many contracts being reached much faster. Is it perhaps inappropriate to keep him in the capital?"

However, Constantine was not as relaxed as his master. His eyes were fixed on the satellite positioning and the extremely low visibility of the ice fog ahead of the vehicle. His hands gripped the steering wheel of the snow armored vehicle firmly, leaving long tracks behind him. If the filming went smoothly, in five hours Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes would arrive in Vladivostok via teleportation, and then follow the route they had taken earlier to reach the secret military base.

This was destined to be an extremely difficult journey, and without this mortal by their side, they would have no way of knowing where they were going. Heinrich Zemo's face was expressionless; even the piles of steaming red wine around him couldn't warm his heart in the slightest.

“He is telling the truth, my lord,” Constantine said in a deep voice. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with telling the truth.”

"Perhaps Hammurabi was exaggerating a bit. I don't want him to scare people with those stories; ordinary people don't have that kind of mental fortitude." Salomon disconnected the internal communication and switched to external communication mode, transmitting his voice through the speaker unit on his neck armor. "Mr. Zemo, how much longer until we reach our destination?"

"About three hours," Zemo said coldly.

He had previously opposed Latvian intervention, but as he neared his destination, he had to request support because without suitable transportation, he couldn't possibly venture into Siberia, a region where even gasoline can freeze. Without fuel, heating, and transportation, venturing into the no-man's-land would mean certain death.

"I'll let you make a copy of the data." He looked at the three-meter-tall giant in the driver's seat of the snow armored vehicle, and the warrior in black armor wielding a greatsword in the passenger seat, knowing he had no right to negotiate. "But please abide by our agreement and don't interfere excessively."

“Mr. Zemo, our goal is simply to obtain the hard drive containing the mission records; we won’t meddle in other people’s business,” Salomon asked with interest. “As far as I know, you refused the organization’s planned evacuation. Tell me, how will you see your wife if you are captured? The organization won’t send troops to rescue you from the Americans; that would be a waste of resources.”

"Do you know my wife?"

"Mrs. Zemo, of course I know her. She works very hard."

"You know that's not what I wanted to ask."

"Oh, oh, I see!" Salomon adjusted his posture, the ruby-colored goggles on his skull mask turning towards Heinrich Zemo. "She still has some difficulty swallowing; the doctors say it's due to psychological issues. Although she looks normal from the outside, she's gotten used to a liquid diet. After all, for a long time she didn't have a proper jaw or tongue, and for a long time after the autologous cloning surgery, she could only eat liquids. The automated surgical system has tried its best to repair the wound, but you have to understand that this wasn't an easy task."

"I don't understand." Zemo looked up, his gaze passing over the towering back of the driver's seat to the armored giant in the rearview mirror. "The primary purpose of that mission log is to completely split the Avengers. That goal will be achieved soon, so why do you still need it?"

"That's beyond our knowledge. See him? He's a member of the Royal Guard." Salomon pointed at Constantine. Seeing Zemo's puzzled look, he said, "His presence signifies the organization's determination to succeed in this mission. No one can stop him, not even the Hulk or Thor."

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(End of this chapter)