Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 362 Salomon's Day (First Update)

This is the best age of your life—not too naive, not too mature. You're slim enough to pull off a sharp grey suit without looking too old, and you have well-defined muscles when you take off your shirt. You could choose to comb your defiant hair back, pick an indigo or crimson tie, and then drive your parents' old car to find your sweetheart and take her to the prom.

For Salomon, things were simpler. First, he attended an all-boys school, so dance partners were nonexistent, and his high school life was never marred by any tall, teenage girl. Second, he owned a car—an Aston Martin that perfectly complemented his bespoke suits, exuding gentlemanly taste. The car's waistline, like his suit's, tapered inwards, completely devoid of the bulky, middle-aged appearance often associated with men.

The only minor issue is that the car has UK plates, and private plates at that. These aren't strictly regulated in the US. If the traffic police don't understand—and I mean, they generally don't know how much private plates cost in the UK—the only consequence of driving this kind of car in the US is being pulled over for a stop inspection. At that point, make sure the driver's hands are within the police's sight, otherwise they might just shoot you—of course, if you behave well enough, are polite enough, and well-mannered enough, you might even be able to exchange a few lighthearted jokes with the American police.

Why not? You're a young, wealthy taxpayer. In a capitalist country, everyone has to be polite to you.

But in the UK, none of these problems exist; the only thing that bothers Salomon is the terrible traffic.

The aliens came and went (I mean, they were driven away. Thank goodness, that's the only good news), and the residents of London still had to live there. Everyone, even the deaf old men, had caregivers tell them about the alien invasion, and then they would excitedly tell others that they had witnessed UFOs when they were young, and that the aliens back then were very kind, unlike now, when racism is rampant and the aliens have become ferocious. As decent London citizens (referring to the native Londoners, not the wealthy immigrants), they wouldn't believe in so-called superheroes; who knows if a bunch of weirdos flying around in the sky would even notice the people below them.

Just yesterday, a house caught fire, and the culprit was a small lizard covered in flames. Then, several children claimed to have seen flower fairies, which brought a sense of relief to some older folks who thought today's children had lost their childhood, knew nothing of fairy tales, and only knew rock and roll and big stuff. Of course, there are also some young London residents with fascinating lifestyles, and Salomon's destination is a perfect example.

A steaming hot apple pie and a generous scoop of sweet vanilla ice cream, served with hot black tea that was sweetened but without milk—the host displayed one of the few commendable aspects of hospitality. Therefore, when Salomon opened the portal and drove the car from the highway into the courtyard, the butler's expression remained calm. He composedly took the car keys and helped Salomon park the car, his demeanor seemingly implying that Salomon was the impetuous and rude fellow.

This was an invitation from Salomon that required him to demonstrate the aristocratic manners he had learned.

In fact, there were many such invitations, but he only accepted those from scholars, not business tycoons (specifically Stark), and Salomon, the one who initiated the invitation, had to be careful. This wasn't just because she held a title, but because the initiator was destined to come into contact with the mystical world, and Salomon had to stop her from revealing the truth before anything happened.

As long as she's willing to sign the contract, Salomon won't have to worry about her causing trouble anymore.

This usually boisterous girl became as nervous as a teenager in Salomon's presence, which the sorcerer attributed to his past displays of power frightening her. However, this wasn't the case; Laura Crawford was simply overly excited, as certain historical mysteries were about to be revealed. However, things didn't go as smoothly as they hoped.

"I've heard of Sir Richard Crawford's name; even you are the subject of numerous reports in London's tabloids." Salomon, after settling into the sufficiently soft chair, produced the contract without further ado. "I'm sorry, but this is a necessary procedure, Miss Crawford."

Fortunately, Laura Crawford lacked the foolish ideologies of the white left wing. She readily accepted the not-so-harsh contract, believing it to be Salomon's price for answering her questions—in return, Salomon had to solve certain historical mysteries for her, things not recorded in historical documents. Most importantly, she wanted a plausible explanation for the unsolved mysteries surrounding King Arthur. The whereabouts of the Holy Sword and Salomon's identity were also included in the contract, with her guarantee not to tell anyone or leave any record.

Laura Crawford also mentioned her upcoming adventure to the Dragon's Triangle, asking Salomon about it. This put Salomon in a difficult position, as there was an burial ground for the witch Umberah there. Although there was nothing magical about it, it was deadly enough for ordinary people. In the end, the sorcerer didn't tell her the truth about the Dragon's Triangle, because it was a turning point in Laura Crawford's life, and he couldn't interfere.

This was just one of the lighter tasks Salomon had to do that day. After saying goodbye, he drove to the Finnish countryside. There, he saw Frigg, the Queen of the Gods, and Odin, the Allfather, dressed in ordinary clothes, strolling along a country road soon to be covered in grass. Before them lay majestic snow-capped mountains and thick, leaden clouds piled atop their peaks.

Salomon stopped his carriage a long way off and walked along the path they had taken. Odin leaned on a seemingly ordinary staff, but anyone with special vision could see the dazzling magical aura emanating from it. Odin wasn't pleased with Salomon's arrival; it seemed that stepping down from his throne had completely erased his royal mindset. Salomon heard Odin mutter angrily, cursing him for disturbing his leisure time. Queen Frigga patted him on the shoulder, reminding him to be mindful of his status.

"What identity do we have? We're just an elderly couple living in the countryside."

"Really? But the neighbors all tell me that you claim to be my grandfather."

"We have to give mortals some reason..." Odin mumbled, arguing softly. Queen Frigga smiled helplessly. She invited Salomon to go for a walk with them, hoping he would keep an eye on Odin while she went to gather fungi and herbs, lest the old man sneak off to the snowy mountaintop to hunt again when she wasn't looking.

“Great. No wonder my neighbors were raving about how strong my ‘grandfather’ was. You seem to have shared the bear meat with them? You should be glad that calling the police isn’t common here, and bear meat is delicious.” Salomon sighed, speaking in an unusually admonish tone to Odin, who had turned his back to him, “If you’re going to hunt, you’d better not let ordinary people see you carrying a bear, or at least don’t hang the bearskin out in the open. That’s not something an ordinary old man should do.”

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(End of this chapter)