Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1474 The Transfer Plan (First Update)

What can I gain?

"Brexit bill".

The woman remained calm. The air in the room was warm and humid, but he couldn't see any steam from her breath through the cold glass window near her, leading Mycroft Holmes to wonder if she was still alive.

"The Prime Minister's advisors will come up with a bill that will satisfy many people, and the EU will also agree to delay the Brexit timetable."

Mycroft Holmes memorized every clue the woman revealed. While he couldn't rule out the possibility of a smokescreen, it pointed the investigation in the right direction. The woman seemed unconcerned about his investigation, knowing the lessons of the Bulgarian case and the consequences for those involved—this was why many NATO countries didn't want to go to war with Yugoslavia, as the latter had the ability to wipe out the entire government and financial system. In a system permeated with extreme egoism, power was merely a means to acquire money; the health of the system had little to do with the individual. Everyone in power was scrambling to devour their share, fearing that their own interests would be taken away by others.

"This is what you will gain. Sir Holmes, the only stain on your illustrious career will be erased, and no one will consider you unreliable."

This woman's appearance and disappearance were as sudden as they were.

The moment the subordinate bypassed proper procedures to deliver the confidential documents to Mycroft Holmes' residence, and through him to the woman, the house was left with only an elderly butler in the blink of an eye. "Sir?" the old butler asked, carrying a tray with a bottle of sherry and several fine glasses. "Where are the guests?"

"Poor Haji, so old and slow-witted, why haven't you retired yet?"

As Mycroft Holmes spoke, he cautiously surveyed his surroundings. His gaze swept over the ornate clock, finally settling on the hunched old man. "Sir Arnold Abingson has already left; you're late. But I'm glad you brought my favorite sherry." He gestured for the butler to place the tray on the fireplace, which displayed a picture of swirling flames, then poured himself and the butler a glass. However, he held the glass for a long time, not bringing it to his lips, until the butler began to enjoy his own. "Next time, don't serve such expensive wine to your guests; they don't deserve such a delicacy. Arrange a helicopter for me; I need to go to Sheringford Prison."

Sheringford Prison was an isolated island far removed from British civilization, inaccessible except by specific ships and helicopters with known routes. Mycroft Holmes was able to name Sheringford Prison because the island didn't exist on any nautical chart or document, and no one knew what he had planted there. He didn't need to worry about any eavesdropping devices finding their target based on that phrase, because even the name Sheringford Prison was a decoy. The feeling of having to seek help from a highly intelligent mental patient was painful, especially since this dangerous psychiatrist was his own blood relative—but what was even more painful was admitting that his blood relative imprisoned in Sheringford Prison was far more intelligent than himself, and that with enough clues, she might be able to find an answer—he had to get an answer, or the British Empire would cease to exist.

Mycroft Holmes thought he heard that dry, chuckling sound again, but he couldn't tell if it was just a hallucination caused by his nervousness. "Did you hear that?" he asked, looking around anxiously again, but he heard nothing but the ticking of the clock. "Did you hear that?"

"What?!" the old, deaf butler drawled. "You haven't had dinner yet, Sir."

“It’s nothing.” Mycroft Holmes took a deep breath. He was thoroughly fed up with this torment; he needed to be somewhere only he knew to feel safe. Now he just hoped that the phone call and Watson’s itinerary hadn’t been exposed. Whatever his brother Sherlock Holmes had to do, he should be back in England now, because his time to relax was over. “Get the helicopter ready quickly; I don’t have much time,” he said. “As for food… the sandwiches downstairs are quite good; grab some fries while you’re at it.”

When the wine list was presented for the third time, the witch's gaze almost cut through one's skin.

This isn't a metaphor, but a straightforward statement. For someone with immense talent, altering the physical properties of the material universe is effortless, requiring no conscious thought; it can be done subconsciously. The leather surface is the best example. Faced with the telepathic questioning, the four cat-claw-like marks forced Salomon to temporarily set aside the thin wine list, so that the most jealous black-haired witch would see that he hadn't been handling official business during dinner.

"The work is done." He blinked as he relayed the message to the witch. Bayonetta immediately looked away, as if nothing had happened. She simply used her slender feet, encased in black stockings and red-soled high heels, to lightly brush his calf from under the table, seemingly expressing some emotion she never voiced.

"A secluded old house in the Alps or a ski resort in Belgium—it's a tough choice. But we can add another option. British winters are awful, so let's chase summer! What do you think of sunbathing, Wanda?"

"I'm really looking forward to it." Wanda Maximov licked her lips, enjoying her ice cream dessert. "You know, before you gifted me that New York penthouse, the farthest I'd ever been was the space station. It's great, but not exactly a vacation spot."

"Lola? If you'd like to vacation in the Southern Hemisphere, I can have that golden retriever puppy sent to the secluded island I bought. You can enjoy a warm winter there undisturbed by anyone. There are also two fully armed Pegasus gunships and anti-aircraft arrays, so your safety and travel are guaranteed." Salomon had an unusually large quantity of ice cream desserts laid out in front of him. As the person who had booked the entire restaurant, he could indeed indulge in desserts that most people couldn't afford to satisfy their taste buds. "However, I must warn you, that canine is smarter than you think, its intelligence might surpass that of a ten-year-old human child. In other words, it might be smarter than Milia."

"You can't say that to Milia, it will hurt her feelings." Joan of Arc didn't communicate through telepathy, but rather conveyed her message through the vibrations of her vocal cords. "Are you planning to do something dangerous by sending us away from the Northern Hemisphere?" she asked with interest. "Do you remember our agreement?"

Bayonetta interrupted Joan of Arc without batting an eye. She had already guessed Salomon's reason for doing this; without a doubt, it was because the Northern Hemisphere was no longer safe. Something was beyond control, but it was definitely not a problem of the secular world, otherwise the manor's defense system could have held out for a very long time until everyone was out of danger.

The only ones he values ​​so much are Odin and Frigga, who are currently in Northern Europe.

"I guarantee there's enough for you to kill, darling."

"Fine, as long as you don't send that red-haired female spy to the island, I won't care about anything else."

Please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)