Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 387 The Experience of a Mortal (Second Update)

Designing weapons and developing new technologies are extremely time-consuming processes. Stark sold off a large number of weapon production lines, and the remaining lines needed modification to produce what Salomon wanted, and even then, production volume was low. Salomon gave Stark the Asgardian Centurion's finely crafted longsword as part of the payment. Although the sword was bent by the cursed warrior, its energy field generator remained intact.

He wanted Stark to replicate this energy field generator, and Salomon would also participate in its development. It was because of this that Asgard's melee weapons were indestructible.

Asgardians dislike ranged weapons (though they do possess them), believing a good battle is only fought when enemy blood splatters on them. Only powerful melee weapons allow the mighty Asgardian warriors, capable of interstellar boarding maneuvers, to truly enjoy combat. The empire's reputation as the most martial in the universe is well-deserved—though its emperor, Odin, now enjoying a healthy salad in the Finnish countryside, makes no secret of his picky eating habits. A diet that causes high blood pressure and cholesterol in humans is no big deal for the Aesir; Queen Frigga simply dislikes Odin's beer belly.

The Venerable One's vision of making Earthlings as powerful as Asgard still has a long way to go.

This is the first step, starting with analyzing the Asgardians' weapons.

“I assure you, the Asgardian energy field generator is a 100% technological construct, devoid of any magic.” Salomon blinked. While he also enjoyed the smell of the cutting machine after it was turned on, he wanted to avoid the azure metallic fumes filling the air and rushing into his brain. He stepped back a few paces and pointed to the golden hilt of the Centurion's finely crafted longsword. “That’s your forte, Stark.”

"I know, I know." Stark stood up, stomped aside angrily, and donned his favorite armor amidst the clatter of billiard balls. He couldn't wait to see the internal workings of the energy generator, but there were no screws. The fine alloy dulled the cutting machine's blade, and a plume of blue smoke rose, making Salomon cough. This both annoyed and delighted Stark; annoyed because he had wasted his time, and delighted because it proved that the sword held many technologies to be explored.

This sword was not forged by dwarves; dwarves were only responsible for forging weapons and armor for members of the royal family.

Lacking suitable equipment, Stark had to rely on the laser generator mounted on his armor arm for manual cutting. As a skilled fitter, he was confident he wouldn't damage the internal structure. "I can determine the alloy's thickness through flaw detection, and then estimate the appropriate laser power based on parameters like hardness," he said, tilting his head back proudly like a blushing kindergarten boy showing off his toy to his friends. Salomon thought Stark had done something similar as a child.

"Most of the credit goes to my extensive experience."

"Of course, sir," Jarvis offered timely flattery. "Would you like a Coke, Mr. Damonette?"

"Of course, thank you very much." Salomon took the cup from the dull-looking robotic arm; the cold liquid soothed his alcohol-burning stomach. He felt his breath was full of alcohol, and that the laser might ignite the air later. "I often think, Stark, will you ever suddenly have the idea to transform your body into a machine?"

Stark wasn't wearing a helmet, and his eyes seemed to say that Salomon's idea was utterly absurd. "I'm not that crazy, kid," he said. "I don't want to turn myself into a pile of metal and pipes; that's too insane."

"That's good, that way I can pay less in royalties." Salomon was pleased to see Stark's attitude towards death.

"Aren't you going to stay for dinner?" Stark changed the subject. "Pepper would definitely welcome you. That flower trick you pulled last time was pretty good, but those flowers disappeared from the vase in no time; I saw them decompose into air with my own eyes. Pepper wants some magic bouquets; can you make them?"

"Of course I can, but I still can't stay for dinner," Salomon said. "I didn't have lunch and survived on black tea. My girlfriend doesn't really like the android maid's cooking, so I think I have to go back to New York and home to prepare dinner."

"Look at you, Salomon, look at you!" Stark waved his hands, his face contorted in a spitting, exasperated tone. "Master of magic, master of swordsmanship, silver knight, scholar. Can't you see we're doing something incredibly important? Is a dinner with your girlfriend more important than this?"

"Whether you're a master magician, a master swordsman, or a silver knight, a scholar still needs to eat, poop, and sleep, Stark," Salomon said with a laugh. "And you also have to wash dishes and do laundry. Although my maids do those jobs now, I used to do them myself, using magic. That's what mortals are like. Mortals need families, and I enjoy doing these things because it reminds me that I'm human. That's important, important for everyone."

"I don't understand what you're saying, but there's one more thing... Don't you really need to bring your Aston Martin here for modifications? To be honest, all my cars have been modified, and as a man, you can't afford not to learn this craft."

"Oh, never mind then. I don't like the feeling of having oily hands. This is American craftsmanship, not British, and certainly not Jewish."

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"You should get a good night's sleep, darling. Reading too much magic will tire you out; I can almost hear your joints grinding." Bayonetta stuffed a crumb of toast into her mouth, watching Salomon being helped to sit at the table by a maid. She reached out and pinched Salomon's cheek, then brought it to her nose and smelled it. "Good, at least no one kissed your cheek today," she said with a pleasant smirk. "You're rewarded tonight."

Salomon smiled. His exhaustion stemmed from studying Randolph Carter's notes alone; the dark, blasphemous magic tormented his mind. He wanted to find information about the mark Yog-Sothoth had left on him.

"You should let him get some sleep, Ceresia." Joan of Arc tossed her knife and fork with displeasure, waiting for the homunculus maid to bring dinner. "You slept in the middle last night, and I heard you two making noises in the middle of the night." The white-haired witch glared at Salomon, who was grinning foolishly. "I even heard him chanting spells! Do you two need magic when you do that kind of thing?"

"What's wrong with that? We're witches, he's a wizard," Bayonetta retorted boldly. She held the bread cube up to the curious Cheshire cat's nose, then cuddled her magical pet before the cat jumped off the table in disgust. "I must say, those spells were a wonderful experience. I wish all magic could make me feel this comfortable."

"Ceresa!"

"Meow!"

Bayonetta stepped across the table, lifted Salomon's chin with her fingers, and kissed his lips. At the same time, she glanced at Joan of Arc with a defiant look. However, Joan of Arc did not jump up from her chair as she expected. The white-haired witch lowered her head, pretending not to see, but the sound of her knife and fork scraping across the empty plate revealed her mood.

"Alright, alright, you shy little cutie~" Bayonetta clicked her tongue and whispered a few words in Salomon's ear. Salomon's eyes couldn't leave this incredibly beautiful woman for even a second; Bayonetta in her semi-transparent black nightgown was simply too alluring to him. "And you, my sweetheart, do you want a reward?"

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(End of this chapter)