Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 197 Who's Stirring Up Trouble? (First Update)

He dreamt of a great ship, teeming with black-skinned slaves in chains. Salomon heard no shouts from the oarsmen; the ship, with its black sails, entered the harbor in a deathly silence. Not even the slaves uttered a sob; only the clanging of their chains filled the air. He stood in the garden high above the harbor, overlooking the black-sailed ships. Behind him were blooming rose bushes and an incessant, silvery-white fountain. Withered leaves littered the ground, and the faces of the white marble statues were blurred, their hems cracked.

A salty breeze swept across the sea and towering cliffs, and even the red and white roses blooming behind Salomon couldn't mask the peculiar stench emanating from the black galley. He saw a merchant with an exaggeratedly large mouth step off the ship, his eyes slanted, two bulges appearing on his turban. The merchant's face was repulsive, yet his goods were sought after—exquisitely beautiful, large rubies, the only source of rubies in the city. The sailors could only endure the stench, smoking the strongest tobacco to suppress their nausea.

Salomon descended the stairs, seemingly wearing a long, golden robe in his dream, adorned with exquisitely beautiful patterns. He arrived at the cobblestone dock, passing sailors carrying vegetables and seafood, past drunken prostitutes and their clients. Merchants wearing turbans bowed respectfully upon seeing him. Salomon didn't understand why they treated him with such respect, but he didn't mind their politeness. He suppressed the stench and greeted the merchants with a smile.

The merchant opened his mouth and uttered a string of words in an offensive voice that Salomon felt he should be able to understand. Smiling, the merchant produced a strange wine bottle from behind him, carved from a large, hollowed-out ruby ​​with odd patterns. Accompanying it were two ruby ​​goblets. The merchant gestured for Salomon to taste the wine he had brought.

For some reason, the sorcerer didn't refuse the invitation and poured the wine into his cup. But just as he was about to drink it, a cat's growl interrupted him. Then came a chorus of cat meows. Salomon looked around; many fat cats had suddenly appeared and crowded the dock, their claws hooking onto his robes and climbing onto his shoulders and arms. There were so many cats—orange, black and white, tortoiseshell, snow-white, pure black, long-haired, short-haired—that Salomon had to drop his cup and hold these furry creatures in his arms. Those that couldn't pounce on him scratched and clawed fiercely at the merchant until he fled in terror.

When Salomon threw down the ruby ​​goblet, the cats' anger vanished instantly. They turned to sweet purring, rubbing against the wizard's legs and smearing their colorful fur onto his robes. The fattest cat, which appeared to be gray, skillfully nestled into the most comfortable spot in Salomon's lap, purring the loudest of all.

This was a terrible dream; there was nothing good about it except for the cats.

Salomon sat bolt upright in bed, the Cheshire Cat, who had been sleeping peacefully on his chest, tumbling onto the pile of bedding. The cold, silver key on his chest jolted the sorcerer fully awake, and he felt a cold sweat run down his back.

The cat, startled awake from its sweet dream, meowed in displeasure. It wasn't hurt, just a little angry. The sorcerer reached out and stroked its round, fluffy gray head, then pulled back before the cat could grab his arm. He picked up his wand from the bedside table, pressed it to his temple, and extracted the part of the dream he remembered, placing it in a glass bottle—he remembered parts of that dream; it wasn't the first time he'd dreamt of that dock and that merchant. Each time, he was powerless in his dreams, but each time, the cats would come to his aid.

Ever since the incident with the Hell Breather and the warning he received, that dream has been recurring in his nighttime dreams. It wasn't intentional on his part, and he didn't know who had planted these dreams in his mind. The only thing he was certain of was that these eerie dreams were not good.

Salomon had no idea what would happen if he drank the wine the merchant offered him in his dream, but it would certainly be just as bad as the dream itself.

After learning of his symptoms, His Holiness specifically instructed him to record every dream. His Holiness also required Salomon to sleep at Kamar-Taj headquarters until the matter was resolved. His Holiness went to Avalon to seek a solution and has not yet returned.

He will be much safer here.

Perhaps this matter is related to the awakening of the Cyclops, perhaps it's a demon from the dream dimension invading his dream, or perhaps it's Mephisto's trick, but even the Sorcerer Supreme cannot be certain until more information is revealed. The Sorcerer Supreme's protective spells for the dream realm cannot forever safeguard Salomon, as spells have a time limit. He must learn to seek the power of Hogos for protection, or drink the Elixir of All Souls to have a lucid dream.

But after the effects of the medicine or spell wear off, this dream will always come unexpectedly, thankfully there are still those cats.

The sorcerer knew where his allies came from; the king seated on the cat's-eye throne was protecting his dream. But if he couldn't resolve the problem, the dream would continue to haunt him. Perhaps by relinquishing the silver key to his chest, completely severing ties with the ultimate mysteries of the universe, abandoning the pursuit of the diverging points of fate, and allowing himself to be at the mercy of the gods, he could find peace.

Damn Nyarlathotep! This must be His trick! Salomon immediately found a scapegoat; blaming Nyarlathotep was certainly the right thing to do when he didn't know who the real culprit was.

Salomon sighed, picked up the cat, and tucked the warm Cheshire Cat into the blankets, trying to fall back asleep. Due to the time difference, Salomon's sleep time overlapped with the apprentices' training time, so he could only cover his head with the blankets to block out all the noise.

He was exhausted, both mentally and physically. He needed sleep, but he was likely to fall into another bizarre dream. But it didn't matter; Salomon had unlocked the stigmata—since the dream was bizarre enough, let's see how long it lasted under the weight of his vast memories.

Upon learning of this, Kasirius immediately relinquished command and rushed back from Canada, only to run into Salomon as he was getting up for breakfast. Or rather, it wasn't a coincidence; Kasirius was waiting for him. He had just argued with Mordo, who felt Kasirius was being irresponsible by handing over the task given to him by the Venerable to someone else, while Kasirius accused Mordo of being overly indifferent to his comrades.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "You look tired."

"Hmm~" Salomon listlessly shook his head, holding two white porcelain bowls, one large and one small. The large bowl contained rice, meat, and vegetables, while the small bowl was full of fish. This was his and the Cheshire Cat's lunch. He had no appetite, and the bland taste suited him perfectly.

"Perhaps you should have a whiskey." Cassirios shrugged and followed Salomon to his seat. "Trust me, you won't dream after you drink."

"Have you ever had a dream like that?" Salomon asked.

"You mean bad dreams?" Cassirios was silent for a moment. "Many, just like yours. Those dreams haunt my mind day and night. I dream about her every day."

"she?"

"My wife." Cassirios's voice darkened along with his eyes. "I dream of her every night. I dream that she is still alive, and then she dies again. Every night she comes back to life before my eyes, and each time my heart aches terribly. The Venerable One believes that I cannot let go of my obsession..."

"But this is the work of an outer dimension demon." Salomon interrupted Cassirios's thoughts, not wanting him to continue. "The Venerable One is right. Outer dimension demons will infiltrate every crack in our minds, trying to influence our thoughts."

"No, I want to resurrect her," Cassirios said. "Magic can do that, I firmly believe."

“It’s been too long, Kasirius, far too long,” Salomon said. “You know what those who can be resurrected are—they are undead, not human. They have no human emotions. Those resurrected with dark magic don’t have their own consciousness; their thoughts are altered by negative energy. They are no longer the same people they once were.”

"So what did you dream about? Did the Venerable One help you resolve it?" Cassirios subtly changed the subject. "You seem very troubled."

"I believe it's the work of an outer-dimensional demon, but I can't be sure who it is yet—a nightmare or something far more terrifying?" Salomon yawned and pulled out the cat that was dozing inside his cult robes. He placed it on the table. "Eat up, it's boiled fish without salt." After settling his pet, he looked back at Kasirius. "Once I've determined who's disturbing my dreams, I can mount a targeted defense—and if that fails, I'll seek the help of the Vishanti. Whether it's letting a demon enter my mind or letting the Vishanti enter my mind, it all seems the same to me."

"I envy you," Cassirios sighed. "Really."

"What's there to envy?"

"I admire your thinking, junior brother. You've always seemed very brave."

"I'm terrified, Kasirius. Really, believe it or not, every time I sleep now it's like walking a tightrope. Do you think I don't want to fall into the witch's arms?" Salomon mumbled in his throat. "But fear won't solve anything, and neither will self-pity. Only killing the culprit will."

"Fear and courage are not contradictory, my child. That's what I admire most about you; you always have the courage to fight back."

"You might as well say I'm petty!"

"Ha, you're the kind of person who'd even pluck a fly's wing off."

Thank you to 疾风晓刀 for the 100-point donation.

Thank you to the person who gave me the 100-point reward.

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(End of this chapter)