Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1732 Mr. Odysseus

A fierce storm and cold wind blew in from the wide window. She opened her eyes and realized with a start that she had fallen asleep at her loom. Exhaustion and time relentlessly robbed her of her energy. The three years of weaving could no longer be delayed. The treacherous maid betrayed her to the suitor, revealing her trick of weaving by day and dismantling funeral shrouds by night.

Penelope looked out the window. For the past twenty years, she had stood in her bedroom in the Ithaca palace, gazing at the sea, hoping for the return of the great ship carrying her husband. She saw the clamor of suitors below the palace, and Argus, the hunting dog her husband Odysseus had raised, now lay in the dung heap of the mule stable, unable to hold its prey as it once did, unable to stand up and drive away these vicious Ithaca nobles.

When Antinous was a young boy, her husband would hold him on his lap and feed him meat, sharing wine with him. But now, Antinous wanted to kill his best friend, her and her husband's son, Telemachus. The glory that Accius and his son Laeltis, and Laeltis and his son Odysseus had once bestowed upon the Ithacan nobles was now despised by them, like bones and flesh carelessly discarded at a banquet.

Because of the sacred oath of guest, Telemachus had to entertain the suitors; he could not harm them and could only generously share his food with them.

Last night, the stranger brought by her son Telemachus brought news of Odysseus, and even described the clothes Odysseus was wearing at the time—a red cloak with a hound biting a deer engraved on a gold pin; and a beautifully embroidered robe, smooth and luxurious—she remembered the pin, which she had pinned to his cloak herself, and then fate propelled him to Troy.

The strangers proclaimed that Odysseus was sailing towards Ithaca in a large ship, carrying enough wealth to feed ten generations, and would soon appear. The stranger's skin, tanned a light brown by the sun, was wrinkled and grime-covered, and his face was obscured by a tangled beard. Penelope, overwhelmed by the sudden good news and the torment of fate, had no time to admire the stranger's appearance, but she still treated him with courtesy.

However, the stranger did not agree to let the treacherous maids wash his feet, but instead asked an old woman, who was also suffering from the hardships of life, to help him. So Odysseus's nurse, the kind and understanding Eurycleas, washed the stranger's feet, because the stranger's voice sounded just like Odysseus's, and Eurycleas felt great sympathy for the beggar who had been treated by Telemachus.

Hatred and despair filled Penelope's heart, and she prayed that the suitor's soul be burned in Zeus's thunderbolts!

Penelope gazed at the sudden storm and black waves rising on the distant sea, feeling a bone-chilling cold.

Perhaps it was an omen, or perhaps her husband was rushing here anxiously, carried by the sea breeze; she could even imagine the gleam in those resolute black eyes. If he knew of the suitor's misdeeds, the fury emanating from those eyes might just set the palace ablaze.

She had no desire to remarry. She saw suitors squandering the wealth of successive Ithaca kings, driving Ithaca toward destruction. Perhaps the strangers were right; Odysseus was about to return, and she needed to delay further. She would set a test for the suitors—just as her husband preferred: to stand twelve axes upright in a row and shoot arrows through the holes in the handles—she believed few could accomplish this; not everyone was as strong as Odysseus to draw that mysterious giant bow.

She tossed and turned in her sleep, consumed by longing and grief.

Hidden in the shadows, Athena mercifully granted her dreams, soothing her soul and helping her through the long nights of the past twenty years. Athena was unaware that Penelope did not belong to the wise goddess of war; the queen's dreams were her own.

Penelope had many bizarre dreams, though she remembered nothing of them when she woke up.

She dreamt that she was standing before the gates of a towering temple, where precious incense smoldered in a huge brazier, and jewels from the turquoise staircase and a long robe handwoven by a young girl draped smoothly over her body. Large, precious gems were set into her gold jewelry. Outside the city, the surging river reflected shimmering light, and the distant sea was as calm as a mirror.

She dreamt that she was barefoot, walking on soft, damp earth, the muddy water overflowing and soaking her long dress. Behind her followed a large group of refugees carrying grain and pottery. In the farthest reaches of her dreams and memories, a terrifying flood raged against the riverbanks built by tens of thousands of people over thirty years. Her husband, the master of Elidu, stood by, shepherd's staff in hand, driving the city's flocks of sheep. She had chosen the name for the new city: Uruk. She would use all the knowledge she had gained in Elidu to build a richer and more powerful city-state.

She dreamt of a group of priests who worshipped gods and spirits, gathered in a snow-covered mountain cave, talking around a campfire with a familiar, tall figure. Although she didn't understand what they were talking about, she could sense that it was important.

"Dispersion, reincarnation, convergence. This is the foundation of the spell, a new system I've developed." The man held her hand, his obsidian-black eyes fixed on her. "This will allow you to truly become human, freeing you from the concept of being corrupted. The original natural spirits of this planet have all been corrupted, but as long as you can execute the procedures of reincarnation and separation, those discarded, corrupted parts will become your power once more."

"Then how can I remember you? Agamotto said that this process might take thousands of years."

Fate has bound us together, and I will find you no matter what.

Tonight, she dreamt that Odysseus returned to her side, just as the vow in her dream had come true.

It was a spacious hall, the polished marble floor gleaming in the morning sunlight. The hall felt strangely familiar, as if she had personally arranged it, carefully selecting each piece of furniture. She sat at the long dining table, and a fat, somewhat comically comical gray cat, after several attempts, finally jumped onto the chair next to her, then leisurely perched on the edge of the chair and lay down on her lap.

She unconsciously stroked the cat's soft, short fur, as if she had done it a thousand times before.

The familiar purring of a cat filled the air, and a small golden puppy, catching the sunlight streaming through the hall and dining room, anxiously circled her chair. In a daze, she saw that familiar figure sitting beside her, a broad smile on his face, his body exuding the lingering scent of olive oil from the previous night's pleasure.

That was her favorite essential oil; she loved to apply olive oil to each other's skin, which would shimmer and smell wonderful under the light. He looked into her eyes, his gaze as fiery as a star, illuminating the only warmth in this cold universe.

"██████"

She tried hard to hear what he was saying, but the roar from the end of time drowned out all other sounds.

"Celessa," Joan of Arc, sitting opposite, couldn't help but remind the dazed witch. Bayonetta was startled, seemingly unaware of her surroundings. She looked at the white-haired witch sitting opposite her and said something, but she couldn't hear herself or know what she said; all her responses were subconscious.

Joan of Arc raised an eyebrow. "Why are you speaking Greek?"

"I spoke Greek?" Bayonetta shook her head, trying to clear her head. "Maybe I was just too tired."

"I can get the Order involved. Those people have signed contracts that prevent them from leaking information. Access to the Immortal City is much stricter than you think. After Baldr—I mean the previous Baldr, the terrible one—died, the Board of Directors no longer has any power to stop us. No one will object."

The white-haired witch frowned in displeasure. "You don't need to force yourself like this. Once he returns, you'll have time to sort through these assets."

"Have you noticed that the outer dimension waves have been unusually calm lately? I have a feeling that something is about to happen."

"I've seen the reports from Kamar-Taj. The omens of Ragnarok, the funeral of the Sorcerer Supreme… Haven't enough things happened?" Joan shrugged. "I never imagined we'd become Kamar-Taj's superior organization. Who would have thought you used to only get your missions from there? Tell me, Ceresia, did you choose him to become the mistress of Kamar-Taj, hmm?"

"That's hilarious." Bayonetta rolled her eyes.

Wanda, yawning, walked into the dining room early in the morning. Bayonetta and Joan, who were joking around, both turned to look at her. "Breakfast today is lamb, Wanda," Joan said, pushing the plate towards her. "Lamb, spicy sausage, escargot, and slow-cooked lamb. It's a bit inappropriate to eat this in the morning; it's such a waste to just leave all that fresh lamb in the fridge yesterday."

Wanda nodded blankly, took the plate, and buried her head in her food. Suddenly, she realized something and abruptly looked up. "This is from the internal organ divination ritual we held last night..."

"That's right, it's that sheep." Seeing Wanda's flustered look, Bayonetta had a mischievous smile on her face. "We don't have the qualifications to slaughter animals, so even now, we're breaking a lot of laws."

"What I mean is..."

“No result is a result in itself. We don’t need to perform any more divination rituals.” Seeing Wanda’s puzzled look, Bayonetta explained, “Intelligence from Hydra and Phil Coulson indicates that someone tracked Natasha Romanoff to Houston, and then she disappeared. I mean, disappeared without leaving any information. Fixed lines went unanswered, the safe house was completely empty, and even Agent Coulson didn’t know how to contact her. Some suspect she went to Mexico.”

"But we believe she's in Houston because the visceral ritual and dream divination couldn't find her, which means there's an extremely powerful source of interference around her." Jeanne d'Arc skewered a sausage and added, "As far as I know, none of the remnants of S.H.I.E.L.D. have a sorcerer capable of resisting the divination ritual that the three of us can cast together, so the answer is obvious."

"He's being watched, otherwise he wouldn't have hidden himself in this way," Bayonetta said. "Although we don't know which era his time travel destination is, the only thing we can be sure of now is that his lifespan far exceeds that of normal humans. His very existence is a miracle, an innate alien concept that makes him extremely conspicuous in other dimensions."

"I remember he once discussed a problem with me," Wanda said. "He believed that no matter how powerful an individual is, they cannot defy the ancient concepts of human reason. He also talked about the relationship between so-called preordained desires, behavioral patterns, and sympathetic magic, but I haven't systematically studied these things yet..."

"The biggest purpose of time travel is to hide him within the vast concept of human history, using human reason to conceal himself and avoid the gaze from other dimensions," Bayonetta waved her hand and said irritably. "He must have gotten into some trouble that can't be dealt with by magic, which is why he entrusted us to fight against the Asgardian goddess of death."

"Why doesn't he come back here, but instead hides in Houston?"

"Because he doesn't trust us." Hearing Joan's question, Bayonette felt a bitter taste in her mouth and a surge of anger rose within her. "To be precise, he doesn't trust Madame Butterfly and Madame Styx. Perhaps he knows who Madame Butterfly and Madame Styx really are and thinks it would be risky for them to appear before us."

Wanda noticed the strange shadows cast by Bayonetta and Jeanne writhing in a corner untouched by sunlight. A woman's arm, with a skin color unlike any human's and draped in luxurious fabric, emerged from the shadows and made a gesture toward Bayonetta and Jeanne. Wanda recognized the gesture—Salomon had taught her—it was the Shadow Witch's battle gesture, meaning "teach him a lesson."

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Natasha Romanov stepped off the plane and stretched.

"This isn't Zurich." She took off her sunglasses and looked around. "The sunlight is lovely."

"Of course not, this is California. A Gulfstream G550 can't fly to Europe in an hour." Salomon held out his hand, gesturing for Diana to put the luggage in the car. "Even energy companies diversify their investments, but the California sector belongs to the Getty family, and my company can only cooperate with them. In California, my identity is that of a vineyard owner."

"But I don't think you'll take this seriously."

Dina brought over a Bentley Mulsanne Executive Interior belonging to Salomon, and the service company helped transfer the luggage to the convoy. This service company was affiliated with an independent venture capital bank, essentially a Salomon property, and given the high salaries he paid his staff and the confidentiality agreements, he wasn't worried about them leaking information about Natasha Romanov's presence.

Salomon opened the back door for Natasha himself, without letting the service staff interfere.

Natasha noticed that the luxury car seemed to have been modified. Not only did it have bulletproof doors and windows comparable to those of a presidential limousine, but Diana, sitting in the driver's seat, openly opened the concealed weapons cabinet in the glove box and brazenly inspected the MP5 submachine gun hidden inside. Faced with Natasha's suspicions, Diana chose to remain indifferent.

This didn't surprise her; she knew Diana better than S.H.I.E.L.D.

While S.H.I.E.L.D. was still speculating about the identity of the girl who had suddenly appeared beside Salomon, she already knew that Dina was an android. Salomon coughed awkwardly twice; he couldn't change Dina's personality. Left with no other option, he explained himself: all the supplies and arrangements for this trip were prepared by Dina, and what Natasha was seeing was simply the result of Dina raising the security level.

"The news is that agricultural unions are organizing a strike." Natasha understood in a few seconds. "You're a farmer, and during grape harvest season, you need Latino harvest workers. Many of these workers are undocumented immigrants, and undocumented immigrants have ties to gangs, so you think someone will break the rules."

"It's never wrong to be prepared. Since the end of the Cold War, there are fewer and fewer veteran politicians who can use their brains, and emerging politicians have less and less respect for the rules."

Natasha Romanov is very knowledgeable about this topic.

She had full access to classified FBI files, including those related to the Kennedy assassination and Marilyn Monroe. She knew that politicians during the Cold War rarely used assassination to eliminate political enemies—except for Kennedy, who was planning to take back the Federal Reserve, everyone wanted him dead—when McCarthyism was rampant, assassinations were mainly used to eliminate left-wing stars in Hollywood, and some cases were handled with more professionalism than secret agents.

In any case, assassinations rarely occur among businesspeople who provide political donations, as that would be a complete game-breaker.

However, the infighting among capitalists is becoming increasingly fierce.

The latest novel is first published here!

America is indeed a paradise for the rich, but there are also many rich people who are unable to protect their wealth.

"It's not just vineyards, but also nut farms, avocado farms, tomato farms, beet farms, lettuce farms, and strawberry farms. These are all supported by the Democratic Party in California. In return, the farmers have the opportunity to share California's water resources and undocumented immigrant workers. However, vineyards have the greatest influence in Northern California, producing 90 percent of the nation's grapes, with a total output value that even surpasses some high-tech industries."

"So these high-profit industries have actually been divided up by local families?"

"Yes." Salomon raised a finger, indicating that Diana could drive. Security vehicles sandwiched the Bentley Mulsanne Executive Interior in the middle, a standard security convoy. The convoy drove along Highway 1 out of the airport, turned right after passing the Otis College of Art and Design, and then drove along Highway 42 onto Highway 405.

To kill time, he had no choice but to continue explaining why Diana had increased security.

In the United States, labor unions are essentially gangs composed of different ethnic groups. They serve as a link to fill gaps in grassroots governance in the US government, responsible for connecting politicians at the top with workers at the bottom. Politicians need the votes provided by unions, and workers need the job opportunities and job security they offer. Unions composed of minorities have even more intricate connections with gangs.

These unions divide various industries into territories, and without joining a union, one cannot obtain a job. Different ethnic minorities work in different industries. The agricultural unions in California are predominantly Latino, and their main members are mostly undocumented immigrants from the border. The trucking unions, composed of local whites, have ties to skinheads and monopolize California's trucking industry.

Moreover, these unions colluded with Latino gangs, northern Mexican drug cartels, and local white gangs to build a drug trafficking chain, providing campaign funds and lobbying funds for high-ranking politicians. The Newsom family and the Pelosi family in California were both links in this chain, especially after the overall deindustrialization of the United States, as the newly rich created by emerging high-tech industries also tried to join this lucrative feast.

In short, if the entire ruling class of this land were executed, there would certainly be some innocent people among them, and if every other person was executed, there would be some who escaped.

"As an oil company from Texas, what do you think the Getty family, the local energy giants, will do to me? Moreover, my vineyards, which I have expanded in recent years, occupy a vital future oil pipeline. If they don't cooperate with me, the Rockefeller family of ExxonMobil will."

“Local lords must rally their allies to fight back against outsiders. You think the strike will focus on your vineyards, as a warning to local vineyard owners to cede land for the pipeline,” Natasha said. “I think you bought the vineyards just for that pipeline.”

"That's right, it's just a game, and I've got one of the chips. This game will be limited to certain areas. The worst outcome is that I'll be forced to sell part of my plantation land, losing this season's harvest and my share of the wine. But most people in this world are fools, and nobody knows if a mentally ill gunman will suddenly appear. In that case, even if something breaks the rules, no one will be held responsible."

"I don't think you need to take this seriously." Natasha poked Salomon's chest. "You have plenty of ways to solve this if you want to, and the Rockefeller family is no match for you."

"This is really not something I need to worry about. I trust Diana will handle this kind of trivial matter." Salomon took her hand. "We're going to Beverly Hills first, and then to my private vacation home to enjoy the last sunbathing of the year."

"I didn't bring a bikini."

"You don't have to wear anything, honey, it's a private beach."

"You know what, I can tell you're lying," Natasha Romanoff said slowly, looking at Salomon sitting beside her. "Nick Fury has built many secret bases, some of which are completely undocumented, like the 'Basement' in California. Currently, some of these bases are under the control of Agent Coulson. My intelligence indicates they're not at 'The Lighthouse' anymore, but have moved to 'The Basement.' You want to meet with Agent Coulson?"

Salomon gave her a cold glance.

“Don’t look at me like that, boy,” she said. “You’re good at lying, and you’re good at pretending, but I know you well. S.H.I.E.L.D. has studied your mental model, and I probably know you better than you know yourself. You would never simply enjoy entertainment, not even sunbathing with me.”

I love watching you sunbathe.

"That's true, but you must have other reasons for coming to Los Angeles, including Zurich... What kind of trouble are you dealing with that ordinary people can't handle?"

Natasha Romanov looked relaxed.

She was one of the few people in the world who truly understood Salomon. Natasha knew this incredibly powerful young man wouldn't harm her; she could even confidently tell the witch that her relationship with Salomon predated theirs—and Salomon's current expression didn't surprise her. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s psychological research department had a thorough understanding of Salomon's psychological model—Nick Fury had once suspected Salomon was an old wizard disguised as a young man, and criminal psychology experts had created a model based on this hypothesis.

Although this conjecture was later refuted, some theories still apply at this stage.

The first 20 years of modern life are crucial in shaping "Salomon," representing his psychological infancy. Regardless of how long he lives after his time travel, the ideas shaped by modern society during those first 20 years form his most solid ideological foundation. Natasha believes that her understanding of the "Salomon psychological model" is crude and incomplete, but still usable.

Salomon looked into Natasha's eyes, completely unaware of what she was thinking.

He only felt that this woman was becoming increasingly audacious. It seemed that she had truly accepted his arrangements and intended to retire from the spy industry to become a typical American old-money socialite. Her inquiries into these secrets were merely out of curiosity and professional habit. Natasha Romanoff had once considered the Avengers as her family, but now that the Avengers were scattered across the country, it seemed that she had given up on maintaining the last shred of their friendship. Salomon believed that if her former colleagues in the Avengers needed her, Natasha Romanoff would not hesitate to take up arms, return to the battlefield, and ultimately lose her life.

"Will the trouble you're dealing with cause a lot of civilian casualties?" The red-haired female spy smiled like a fox. She moved closer, and Salomon could feel her warm breath and rising body temperature. "If you're unwilling to confess, I don't mind interrogating you right here, big boy."

"I want to see someone Nick Fury has hidden away. Do you know about immortals?"

"My clearance level is ten... Okay, I don't know. 'Chang Sheng Ren,' does that name sound alien?"

"You could say that, or more accurately, that they are androids from outer space and other timelines. Howard Stark and Peggy Carter placed them in the Beacon after they realized the usefulness of the androids, and then control of the Beacon fell into the hands of Nick Fury, who is now Agent Coulson."

"Let me guess." Natasha leaned to the side, as if the spacious back seat were a recliner. She could smell the faint scent of olive oil emanating from Salomon's skin, a scent that ignited a fire within her. She didn't even notice the slight tremor in her voice. "You know that immortal being, when did it happen?"

"Around the time of the Mycenaean civilization."

"I must admit, this answer is perfect, Mr. Odysseus."

Salomon looked at her and remained silent.

"According to the mystical theories you told me, this is possible. The union of spirit and flesh is a magical ritual, professionally known as a sacred marriage ceremony, right?" Natasha noticed that Diana's eyes were staring at her in the rearview mirror. "Now I believe what the old butler said. Your secretive nature means you won't choose a partner casually, otherwise you would have to erase those women's memories. You wouldn't do that, so I might be the only woman in the last hundred years to have lain in your bed."

"Yes."

"I'm quite satisfied with that answer, otherwise my jealousy would be burning. But there's still one question you haven't answered, about Zurich. There's definitely some secret there that even S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't know." Natasha rolled over and straddled Salomon's lap. "Now I'm going to begin interrogating you, and resistance is not allowed... Hmm, I don't mind knowing the answer in two hours. Are you sure the car window tinting will block the view from outside?"