Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 468 The Forge (First Update)

Salomon disliked talking to people when activating his Stigmata, so Wanda Maximov had never seen the arcane mage's extraordinary side. In Wanda's presence, Salomon was no different from any other person. He could utter some mildly malicious swear words, had a sense of humor, and seemed no different from any other well-educated young person under twenty in the world. Even when he was in a superior position, he didn't speak with much condescension.

Unless in an extremely adversarial situation, few people can feel disgust towards him. After all, who wouldn't like a good-looking young man who also knows how to respect others?

For ordinary people, magic is already beyond the realm of reason, but for spellcasters, Salomon is even more incomprehensible. Of course, he himself doesn't think so. He's the kind of person who can wear an expensive suit while eating at a roadside stall, who can enjoy cheap ice-cold beer and wine worth tens of thousands of dollars, and who can fill his stomach with the aroma of charcoal-grilled meat and M9 steak in a bustling night market.

Salomon never considered himself anything special, and this talent did not make him noble.

For the sorcerers of Kamar-Taj, it was no surprise that the successor to the Sorcerer Supreme was exceptionally gifted. But in the magical world outside Kamar-Taj, Salomon's behavior was extremely exaggerated. The stigmata remained, proving he was no ordinary person. Salomon had discussed several questions with the Sorcerer Supreme: Was his essence his soul or his stigmata? Did the existence of the stigmata indicate the meaning of his existence?

Even a venerable being cannot answer this question.

Or rather, the Venerable One knew but did not wish to answer.

It was a fact that he disliked speaking to others when activating his Stigmata. When the power of the Stigmata transcended the material world, an irrational power would emerge. He disliked that feeling, yet he needed the vast knowledge that the Stigmata provided; he believed it was a necessary sacrifice to achieve his goals. Sometimes, even Salomon himself had to admit that the Stigmata might be his essence, his soul. This conclusion disgusted him, but it didn't stop him from continuing to use this trait.

When speaking with a non-human being, Salomon readily activated his Stigmata. Even if the power transcended the material world, even if the non-human being was a friendly target.

The dwarves, vassals of Asgard, live in a star system called Swartheim. With their advanced technology, they have bound the neutron star Nidavellir and built the most famous forging workshops in the Nine Realms around it. When Salomon arrived, he immediately felt the scorching air, hot enough to ignite his lungs, hit him like a punch to the face.

The blazing white beams of light erupting from the star, controlled by the star ring, heat the crucible, which resembles a cluster of volcanoes. Tens of thousands of small volcanoes illuminate the old, rusted pipes that have been in use for over ten thousand years. Pressure lines and steam form this land, and clouds rising from the quenching pools are bound by artificial gravity to the top of this forging factory that surrounds the star.

The sensation was surreal. Salomon witnessed firsthand how the clouds created by the forging process transformed from thunder to torrential rain in mere seconds. As the rings rotated, new crucibles arrived, and the thick, steamy clouds above the forge were driven away by the intense heat emanating from the molten metal. When the blindingly red molten iron poured down like a waterfall, all coolness and dampness vanished in an instant. The scorching heat engulfed the steel dome and the void, and the puddles on the steel floor and the water droplets hanging from the pressure gauges instantly vaporized back into transparent water vapor.

Salomon could feel the vibrant life force emanating from the pressure pipes beneath his feet; the heat-suppressing pipes were like the blood vessels of this world. The vibrations of hammers striking anvils as the dwarves forged weapons and treasures traveled through the pipes to him, and he felt the dwarves' love and dedication to this craft, bursting forth with the high-pressure steam.

This was his first time in this galaxy; the previous hundred suits of armor had all been handed over in Asgard. This was the first time he had seen where those suits of armor were forged; Thor's hammer was born here, the Spear of Eternity was crafted here, and his armor would also come to life here.

"By the ancient covenant, I have come here to retrieve my armor."

Even standing among the towering "dwarves," Salomon's voice didn't need to be amplified to attract their attention. After activating his Stigmata, Salomon transformed, especially after activating more than three Stigmata; it was difficult for anyone to take their eyes off his near-perfect face. His features and his voice, too, grew taller and more majestic with the activation of the Stigmata, making the dwarves almost believe that Odin had returned to the world.

This is a powerful warrior; the thought has been born in the heart of every dwarf.

The reason these ancient creatures are called "dwarves" is most likely because, to the progenitor giant Ymir, these "dwarves" were truly just tiny specks. Even now, when these dwarves are taller than the Aesir gods, this name has persisted.

The dwarf blacksmith, Ivadi, lowered his head and found the man staring at him, the hem of his deep red robe, inlaid with gold, billowing like a storm of high-pressure steam. The blacksmith was drawn to his eyes; the calm gaze reminded the dwarves of the giants of their ancestral legends. They were eyes weary from the burden of knowledge, and his deep, powerful voice drowned out the screeching of the dials. All the dwarves stopped their work, as if even the heart of the planet had ceased beating at his voice.

Without a doubt, that perfect armor was made for him; only someone like him deserved a suit of armor forged with the passion and talent of all the dwarves. The dwarven blacksmith Ivadi bowed in respect to Salomon.

"As you wish, warrior."

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At the Venerable One's request, Salomon reluctantly donned the armor and served as a human armor frame.

The Sorcerer Supreme, with a displeased expression, tapped his armor with his finger. The sound of his finger striking the armor plates was dull and muffled, like striking a spaceship. This was not surprising, as this armor was incredibly thick, a stark contrast to the thin plates of the previous ones. If Hela, the Goddess of Death, were to try attacking Salomon with her black sword again, she would find that her longsword could only leave inconspicuous scratches on the armor.

"I still prefer silver; gold isn't pretty at all."

Even though the dwarven craftsmen had poured their hearts and souls into reforging the armor, its foundation remained the old one, and the Venerable One still had the right to judge it. The armor had been re-enchanted, and with the addition of reforged Uru metal, the magic of the fairies and dwarves made this heavy armor even more indestructible. The armor was so perfect that the Venerable One could only find fault with its color.

The dwarves completed the design on Salomon's submitted blueprints, and they also made some expansions in that regard.

For example, the eagle on the shoulder armor is a realistic gold sculpture, with blood-red gemstones inlaid in its eyes. Its outstretched golden wings form the shoulder armor, obscuring the wearer's profile. The upper forearm and elbow armor employ different designs and forging methods, ensuring both protection and flexibility. Ornate wing carvings adorn the entire suit of armor, while the roaring human figures add a sense of solemnity.

It's hard to imagine how the tall "dwarves" could carve such intricate patterns on this armor, but Salomon was very pleased with their efforts.

Please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)