Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1475 Evacuation from the Northern Hemisphere (Second Update)

The Venerable One's whereabouts are unknown, but his return is imminent. A storm is about to erupt from another dimension, and the veil between reality and illusion is weakening. I need your help.

What are you hiding on that deserted island? Don't try to fool me; I know you've maintained contact with the Venerable One.

The Venerable One is located on Mars, conducting research on the Celestials.

I know about the Celestials, but what else? I want to know what's on that island. You should know, I'm actually quite picky.

"Everything you need, including our little toys, your favorite extra-large self-heating bathtub, and olive oil." Salomon smiled, but to outsiders, he only appeared satisfied with the cake in front of him. Bayonetta wore the same expression, especially with the olive oil, her favorite lubricant. Her legs were wrapped tightly under the table like snakes, and Salomon could even feel her body temperature and heartbeat. If he weren't so much taller and heavier than Bayonetta, he might very well have been pulled over by her long, shapely legs, chair and all.

Laura Crawford, unable to be in the Northern Hemisphere during this time, guided me to discover that the mission of her past destiny was not yet complete. Whatever fate has in store for her, she will be safe on that island.

Bayonetta raised an eyebrow. "Would you like her to join our little game? I think she'd be very interested; her shy behavior at breakfast the other day said it all."

【Absolutely not, my dear.】

"I don't think Wanda would mind; a young girl's infatuation with her prince charming is obvious. Do you think she could accept a harmful toy, like the one you used on that poor Asgardian witch?" Bayonetta raised her glass, awaiting an answer with a cheerful expression. She hadn't eaten much dessert, at least not as much as Salomon. The imagery of ravens, snakes, and felines held special significance among shadow witches; all witches could transform into these three animals, and he was certain that at this moment Bayonetta's eyes had turned into the vertical pupils of a feline, casting a hunter's gaze across the round table. "Did something happen between you and Athena? I know you want to deny it, but Freud doesn't think so, otherwise she wouldn't have needed to act as your foster mother. Let's see how long you can hold out… Are you still holding out, darling?"

Salomon's smile vanished. Undoubtedly, it transferred to the dark-haired witch. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes dramatically. "I've installed a small-scale nuclear fusion power plant on that island, fully automated, and also enough sunscreen to create artificial snow," he said, turning to Laura Crawford. "Are you planning to go? Don't worry about your studies, University College London..."

"Hmph, the stench of arrogance from a first-class degree!"

Laura Crawford made a joke and then glanced at Wanda. After Wanda indicated that she would also be there, she nodded, but suggested that she bring along the "prophet" who was still staying at the Oxfordshire manor. She felt it was her responsibility to take care of the mentally ill person who spent all day holed up in his room watching TV dramas.

Although the problem of inflated degrees in British higher education institutions is very serious, it did not affect her much. She should have gone to Oxford University like every generation of the Crawford family—her father went to Oxford to study history according to family tradition, and Salomon had seen her father's image and works in photos and in the library, which is why he recognized the white man who frantically begged the Sorcerer Supreme when he arrived in Kamar-Taj many years ago as Richard Crawford. However, Laura Crawford chose the University of London due to a variety of factors, including rebellious thoughts. After all, at that time she still thought her father's research was a complete fantasy, and she could not possibly know that her father had actually found Kamar-Taj.

The teaching quality at the University of London is no less than that of Oxford University; after all, the renowned scholar Sullivan is a professor there. However, in terms of the richness of historical materials, the University of London is far inferior to the Bodleian Library (Oxford University Library), which possesses numerous rare books. Furthermore, due to her impulsive and adventurous nature, she suspended her studies and hasn't even received her degree certificate yet, let alone a first-class degree—the ticket to British high society. But she doesn't seem to be in a hurry at all. After all, she doesn't need that certificate; rather, that certificate needs her. The University of London needs her—a future aristocrat who will undoubtedly inherit trust and charitable foundations, possesses numerous titles and real estate, and will display her photo in the alumni showcase.

No matter how much the London tabloids smeared her, Laura Crawford remained a member of British high society.

Even if the University of London rejected her due to public opinion, American universities would still accept her. This phenomenon can be attributed to the American upper class's inexplicable yearning for the British upper class's Old Money, an infinite longing for class differences. This sentiment can be said to permeate the entire bourgeois society; those Old Money families with centuries of heritage are incredibly alluring to American Old Money families with only a century of inheritance. It can be said that if Laura Crawford had gone to study in America with her aristocratic background, countless honors awaited her. Her name would have been present at various conferences and exchanges, even if she knew nothing about certain research areas (mainly social sciences, charity conferences, feminist studies, etc.).

“I don’t like English winters either, especially when the fireplace isn’t fixed,” said Laura Crawford. She grew up at Crawford Manor, which fell into disrepair, and she only stayed one night there before having to find a hotel because the broken walls and drafty halls made the English winters even harsher. “If possible, I’d like to send some books over. And Winston, I’d like to give him a long leave and let him oversee the restoration work at Crawford Manor.”

“Of course, that’s where long-term vacations are supposed to be,” Salomon said. He didn’t place anything frightening on the island like Martian sages or redemption servants. Both the witch and Laura had expressed their disgust for such things. As a product of Martian thought, where machines were far more valuable than humans, Earth, shrouded in layers of increasingly complex social sciences and moral codes, was not in the harsh survival environment of Mars (the glaciers at the Martian poles were being bombarded daily by solar lasers). Redemption servants made by criminals and low-potential synthetics were far too advanced.

"You can also take the Gulfstream G650 I gave you... You know, when it comes to international travel, we often use void gunships instead of those small planes. Aircraft that can't even reach Mach 1 and can't meet the payload requirements aren't that important. I can continue to cover the maintenance and crew costs for that Gulfstream G650 for you. Compared to the books you took from my library, there's no reason not to accept this small gift."

"Okay, I have one more question." Laura Crawford narrowed her eyes mischievously and asked cheerfully, "I've heard someone mention a red-haired spy. As far as I know, you granted political asylum to the Avengers, so is the so-called red-haired spy Natasha Romanoff? Could you get me an autographed photo?"

Please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)