Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1405, Part 1401: London Fog and Otters (Two-in-One)

In the early morning, a cold mist always rises from the river, and the streetlights standing along the riverbank cast an orange-red glow, painting the mist with the vibrant colors of a Monet painting. Inside the observation rooms, made entirely of glass and wood, thick carpets and heated floors and air allow occupants to comfortably enjoy the beautiful scenery, completely unconcerned about anything outside. Whether it's the low temperatures, torrential rain, or snow, it all simply provides the occupants with more unique views.

This is a luxurious experience, so the heating automatically kicks in when the room temperature drops to a chilly level. Even though the estate has its own power generation facility, the monthly gas bill still amounts to the salary of an average middle-class Londoner. This modernly decorated viewing room is large, connected to the main estate by a corridor, and includes a garden conservatory afternoon tea area and a private area accessible only to the owners. In contrast to the visual impact of the blooming roses in the garden conservatory, the private area is decorated in a minimalist and understated style; the grey carpets and white walls are as cold as the British weather, and the huge terrace overlooks the calm surface of a tributary of the Thames.

Dressed simply, Salomon sat cross-legged on the thick carpet, a cup of hot, sweet tea so intense it hurt his throat, watching the calmly flowing river in the dim light of the room's hidden lamps. His back and chest were exposed to the warm air, several scars covering his body, some even piercing his chest and waist, but these injuries had not taken his life; instead, they had made him stronger. "I regret installing streetlights on the section of the river that runs through the estate. Now I can't even see a calm river anymore," he said, pointing to a path extending from the grass to the river, his tone skeptical. "If I'm not mistaken, that should be the family of otters we saw earlier, and what they're carrying are oysters from the kitchen? I'm absolutely sure! They even took the lemons and sliced ​​salmon. Hey, shameless little thieves!"

"This was the idea you insisted on before the renovations even started," the black-haired witch scoffed at Salomon's words. Salomon had largely decided on the exterior design of the manor; besides the streetlights, there were also some military searchlights illuminating the river. Salomon's complaints were just asking for trouble. "Milia really likes that family of otters. Be more tolerant of them; they can't steal anything else."

Bayonetta had thus explained why the otter family was able to steal things, preventing Salomon from being on edge in the middle of the night and ordering Hammurabi or Amon to strengthen defenses and drive away the otter family that nested near the manor. This was the price that such wealth and power had to pay; if she hadn't stopped some excessive behavior, Salomon might very well have built this place into a fortress instead of a manor.

She sat on the thick wool carpet, draped in a large linen shirt belonging to Salomon. Her long, slender legs stretched towards the orange-mist-shrouded river, her delicate, adorable toes wiggling restlessly. A gray, high-waisted, elastic sports bra perfectly accentuated the curves of her hips, and her long black hair, tied in a ponytail, swayed in the air, revealing a different kind of allure. Especially striking was the sparkling diamond navel stud, a custom-made accessory Salomon had commissioned from the Iranian jewelry designer in London. Paired with her flat stomach and defined abs, it almost made Salomon unable to look away.

"I think it looks even better with the lights on. You can ask Joan of Arc for her opinion."

"She's already asleep. Who told her to go looking for a teaching job and get up at seven in the morning?" Salomon glanced at the large bed. Joan was lying face down, a blanket haphazardly covering her. Beads of sweat from her vigorous exercise still trickled down her back, cooling, and long strands of white hair clung loosely to her neck. "Just yesterday she received numerous complaints from parents, all about her speeding on her motorcycle on campus and being late for work..."

Salomon didn't mention that Joan of Arc had filled in his cell phone number as her work contact information, because Joan knew she would definitely be bombarded with calls for her outrageous behavior, so she simply let Salomon handle the problem. His solution was simple: he used call filtering. Unknown calls would only be transferred to Dinah, because it was a business number.

"I bet she'll have to quit her teaching job in less than a week, just like last time."

How can you be so sure?

"Because after she got home, I texted the headmaster, in Joan's voice, telling him I was resigning tomorrow," Salomon said, raising an eyebrow with a knowing look. "Joan will be very happy when she wakes up at lunchtime, because she'll be experiencing what it's like to be a teacher again. But when she gets up, she'll be bored, just like the last few times. If she still wants to be a teacher, I'll have to become a member of the school board, otherwise no school in Oxfordshire will be willing to hire her in a year."

Bayonetta suppressed a laugh.

Every time Joan of Arc wanted to work but didn't want to get up early on weekdays, she would lose the jobs she had just found. Since Joan of Arc's job on the Isle of Sun was as a teacher, all the jobs she looked for after arriving in Oxfordshire were also teaching positions. However, due to her sleep schedule and her tendency to sleep in, she resigned and was fired more than once, which has left her with no choice but to teach primary school students.

"I'm very content," Bayonetta said with a smile. Before Salomon could react, she repeated herself, lifting her leg and poking Salomon's thigh with her toes. He readily grasped her toes, rubbing them one by one with his fingers. Judging solely by the feel of the skin, it was hard to believe that these were the feet of a woman who wore high heels year-round and could even fight in them. "I'm very content with my life now, Salomon."

"It is my honor, Ceresia."

"How many times have you called me by my real name, I mean when we're not in bed?" Bayonetta narrowed her eyes. "Why don't you usually call me by my name? Are you shy?"

“Ceresa means that the name Cherry doesn’t quite fit your style.” He rubbed the witch’s toes as he set down the teacup. A small, hovering robot automatically rushed over to act as a tray, using its two tiny mechanical claws to stabilize the teacup and ensure the carpet wasn’t soiled. These robots were recently introduced, created by Salomon himself. Their shallow silicon-based intelligence couldn’t generate much true wisdom, but they could understand many of the user’s commands. “Besides, we have many enemies. I’m worried someone might use your true name.” He whispered a few words to the hovering robot, then turned back to Bayonetta. “A true name is a dagger pressed against your throat.”

"Madame Butterfly knows my true name." The black-haired witch lowered her eyes. Intricate butterfly emblems appeared on her back like illusory light and shadow, then vanished in the blink of an eye. "The witch traded her soul for power."

"I swore to you that if you died, I would find Madame Butterfly and reclaim your soul," Salomon said calmly, "just as I swore to take back my mother's soul."

"So, do you have any leads now?"

“Nothing. I even used her bones for divination, and to no avail. There is no echo of her existence in the High Heavens, not even the trajectory of her life has been erased. I can't even make out her face through other people's memories.” Salomon turned to the side, a faint light igniting at his fingertips, wisps of smoke rising. The smoke outlined a simply dressed woman, her long, black curly hair wrapped tightly in a headscarf, clinging to her panicked face. A coal-gray mark marked her wheat-colored skin, and despite suffering from malnutrition, one could still see the captivating beauty she once possessed in her eyes. Bayonetta had seen this image before; it was on a rescue organization's website, a photograph taken by a photographer because of her stunning beauty.

The air was thick with the smell of ozone, and the hot current from my fingertips made a sickening sound.

"I searched for her traces in my dreams, finding people she had met in her life. But without exception, no one remembered her. Except for the Venerable Master and her family who possessed her earliest memories. I found that family in Israel, but they didn't know of my existence, nor did they want to know what happened to her afterward." Salomon frowned. "At least when I was disguised as a journalist, they wouldn't tell me anything because I told them I was an atheist."

"She's very young." Bayonetta carefully examined the image.

Salomon rarely showed her her birth mother's face, as if it were some kind of taboo. She could see that the woman in the image was remarkably similar in appearance to the man in front of her, almost like a different gender version of the same person. However, the difference in their demeanor was immense; the man looked very calm and composed, while the woman looked like a frightened little animal. The image kept changing, rewinding from her older self to her childhood, and finally disappearing, returning to her older self.

"Probably not even twenty years old." Salomon clenched his fist, the woman in the smoke gradually dissipating. "Her only purpose in life was to give birth to me, and I feel guilty towards her. I don't believe her soul could disappear so easily in the etheric ocean. She was special; I believe her soul still exists somewhere I don't know."

Bayonetta pulled her legs back, moved closer, and leaned against his shoulder. Salomon naturally wrapped his arm around her waist, just like before. This was her home; there was no one else here. She didn't need to put on a tough front, and she knew Salomon needed comforting at this moment. This was how family should act. "Even you have things you don't know, huh?"

"Why do I feel like you're mocking me, Ceresia?"

"Then your feeling was right, little magician." Bayonetta reached out and cupped his face, kissing Salomon on the lips. She said seemingly casually, "You always act like you're invincible, and I've been wanting to teach you a lesson for a while. You used to be just a little boy, and now you've just grown up, at least that's how you are in bed."

"Are you declaring war? Joan of Arc is asleep now, our battlefield can only be on the carpet."

"This isn't the first time we've fought on the carpet, Boya."

The black-haired witch was quite familiar with this kind of conversation; she and Salomon exchanged them several times a day, in completely different settings, sometimes even at high-society banquets. As long as her emotions were in the right place, no practical obstacle mattered, and Salomon was more than happy to indulge her whims, after all, it was part of their relationship. Joan of Arc was the same, except that the sleepyhead never stayed up until dawn and always missed the chance to join the final game. "Or perhaps, this time you want to do it on the balcony. We've done that before, haven't we?" The black-haired witch opened her wet eyes wide, her gaze like a muddy swamp that drew you in irresistibly. "Or perhaps, you still have work to do?"

Salomon does have work to do, but not right now.

Work at the Lighthouse base was proceeding smoothly. Reports on the property and personnel damage caused by Melinda May's small riot had been placed on Hammurabi's desk in his study, and electronic files had been uploaded to his dashboard for review. He wasn't concerned with the details of the riot, as he saw in the reports from Constantine and Sergeant Ronald that neither personnel nor supplies had been damaged; therefore, he saw no need to dwell on it.

Meanwhile, reforms and unification within Kamar-Taj were proceeding according to plan. Wanda Maximov and the Royal Guard, Supiluliumas, as his representatives, urged the Kamar-Taj sorcerers, led by the mage Hamil, to implement the transformation. The crushing defeat of other schools of magic at the Temple of Vatum in the Amazon rainforest prompted those schools that had not previously taken Kamar-Taj's dominance seriously to hasten the delivery of their successors and scriptures to the newly established observatory in the Himalayas. This new institution was designed to regulate the use of abilities and the dissemination of knowledge by all schools of magic.

Although the dispatched sorcerers and soldiers encountered resistance more than once, Kamar-Taj always managed to capture and prosecute the rebellious schools. Those schools still hesitant knew that life after surrendering would be far better than their previous existence hiding in the deep mountains. Even if not every school shared this view, the fact that most schools on Earth had been incorporated was enough for Salomon to proceed with his next plan.

"Well, I do have time now." Salomon raised an eyebrow, a smile unconsciously creeping onto his face. "At least until Joan of Arc wakes up, I have time."

(End of this chapter)