Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1557 The Lunar War (Sixty-Nine)

The burning ideal made Maximus completely oblivious to the cold. He imagined the thick mud on the ground as his traitorous subjects, drawing strength from his weakened body, each step firm and powerful. He had to raise a military force no matter what, regardless of the outcome of the war; he needed the violence to maintain his regime—not to manipulate too many people, but simply to build an organized armed force, control its leaders to ensure the achievement of military objectives, and the rest would, under the pressure of survival, pool their manpower, weapons, and other resources under his command. Maximus believed his foolish brother was certainly incapable of holding the line, and the fall of the last line of defense was only a matter of time; before that, he had to gather all available forces.

"The messenger is ready, Your Majesty. We may depart immediately!"

A lithe, armed civilian stepped forward to report; his black clothing was almost invisible in the shadows. He and the so-called messengers were all from the civilian clans of Attilan. To be precise, all the deserters Maximus had encountered so far were from civilian clans. This was understandable; after all, this was the most brutal front of the war, and throwing untrained civilians, even those unmutated by Terrigen, into the battlefield was extremely irresponsible. Maximus viewed it as a waste of resources.

"Take food, Ronnie. Take half the food and medicine," Maximus said, softening his tone. He had only manipulated Ronnie, the leader of the messenger team, and not the symbols he had inscribed; the others had imitated them out of worship or ritual. Although it was just symbols painted on their faces, it was still a form of identification. "Those people must be very hungry. Find them, take them to the refuge, and at the same time select more usable messengers and send them to more places. Don't limit yourself to this settlement; all the other clan settlements must have our messengers."

Maximus looked at his team.

He developed a high fever sometime during the night, his skin burning as if his soul were on fire, his vision searing unbearably. His consciousness remained unaffected; the tinnitus and whispers that overwhelmed him made him believe they were hallucinations. His mind remained strong, at least that's what he thought; Maximus believed he could accomplish this task.

"We are about to undertake a reform unlike any other in the history of Attilan, my subjects."

He roused himself, raised his voice slightly, and scanned the crowd hidden in the darkness with burning eyes. Every pair of eyes watching him told him that he was doing the right thing, that he was fulfilling his duty as King of Attilan, and that he was walking toward an invisible throne.

"I have told you my identity. I am Maximus, the rightful heir to the throne of Attilan. I can tell you that years of corruption have bloated the royal family. Black Bolt has deceived you, diverting security forces to the Genetic Council instead of sending them to the front lines to defend against invaders. They value their own lives as jewels while you are nothing but mud. The glory of the royal family has been tarnished by those ambitious men, and the responsibilities of the nobility have become an excuse for their greed… No, I refuse to accept this outcome. They have disgraced our ancestors… We will build a new Attilan, an Attilan that can protect you and feed you. That is why I have gathered you here. I have noticed that you have drawn symbols for yourselves; from now on, these will be the symbols we use to distinguish our identities."

He paused.

“Don’t go to the front lines, my friends. I won’t waste your lives there,” Maximus said. “Go to the lower levels, to the industrial zone, to the waterworks, to the food processing plants and farms. We must restore our food, water, and weapons supplies. We must make every step the enemy takes on the battlefield cost them. At this critical moment, even the Alpha Primitives must become our strength. Another squad will come with me to the gene lab, where we will obtain enough Terrigen Crystals for all of us. Then we will cast aside our feeble Kree Empire weapons and use our proud talents to win the war!”

He knew that the few hundred men before him were insufficient to sway the entire battlefield, and he wouldn't be foolish enough to send this poorly trained force to the front lines. From the deserters' memories, he saw the swiftness of those genetically modified human warriors and the terror of those steel torrents crushing buildings and human bodies.

Responding voices echoed through the darkness, the fervent emotion stretching into the nearby tunnel, enveloping everyone present. In Attiland, genetic mutation was linked to social status; these commoners, in their childhood, might have received less Terrigen Mist than a single psychedelic cigarette. Maximus's promise represented their ascension to the upper classes, a tremendous incentive for these starving commoners whose stomachs were crammed with regenerable nutrient blocks.

If given the choice, who wouldn't want to eat fresh food?

No one knew why this emotion arose, nor why they were so easily swayed, but Maximus was certain these people would risk their lives to carry out his orders, and he was also certain he hadn't influenced their minds. Not all civilians were affected; only the armed personnel received this treatment, because he wanted them to use their weapons with complete dexterity. He was merely using his mind-reading ability to gather all the information into his brain to make a judgment—or rather, to promptly identify any unstable elements within the group. Because some had previously broken free of his influence, he had begun eliminating destabilizing factors as a precaution; the reconnaissance teams he dispatched were for this purpose—those people couldn't possibly return to the shelter alive.

"Let's go, friends."

He clenched his numb fingertips. In his memory, he'd only ever felt this way when he was a child, during tantrums. It was a result of excessive emotional agitation leading to insufficient blood supply to the extremities. Maximus reacted quickly, realizing that the fervent emotion seemed to have affected him as well. But when he blinked, examining his inner thoughts and savoring every word he'd uttered, the feeling vanished, as if he'd remained perfectly rational.

Maximus turned to look at another group, an army composed of armed civilians.

To be precise, it was an army composed of physically strong men selected from different deserter groups. All of them, not just the army leaders, had undergone his mind control. This wasn't high-intensity mind control, the kind that would completely strip the subjects of their self-awareness and ability to think, rather than merely altering their cognition. Even though he replaced some of their thoughts while preserving their thinking abilities, they were still a conscripted army of civilians. He had to compress his own military knowledge and plant it as a seed in their minds—at the beginning of Attilan's unification, the royal family monopolized all knowledge, including military knowledge, which was only accessible to members of the royal family and military commanders. Without this knowledge, these deserters would still be clumsy at handling firearms, firing the steel needles from electromagnetic catapult rifles into their own toes.

"Terrigan Laboratories, Lord Maximus?"

"No, we're going somewhere else."

He will lead this team to another place, a destination he must reach.

His intuition told him that he would find there something that could change the course of the war, save Attilan, and reclaim the throne.

Please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)