Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 616 Genetics PhD (First Update)

"Data stolen successfully." Salomon turned off his phone screen.

Stephanie accomplished her mission; before the Avengers arrived, all of Strucker's research data had fallen into the hands of the Immortal City. Salomon wouldn't be involved in the entire operation; his role would be more behind the scenes.

He needed to find Ultron's code and uncover the reason for Ultron's betrayal. This reason concerned Salomon's attitude towards artificial intelligence and the production model of the Martian foundry. However, he couldn't rule out the possibility that the Mind Stone was deliberately causing trouble. Therefore, when the Avengers returned to Stark Industries in the supersonic Quinjet, he had already been waiting there for some time. He planned to examine the scepter, but first, he had to deal with these guys in front of him.

Agent Maria Hill is already here waiting.

She stood awkwardly beside Salomon, clutching her tablet. Few knew Nick Fury was still alive, and Salomon was one of them, also aware that Agent Hill was still working for him. For an agent, standing beside someone who knew so many of your secrets was torture. Beside Agent Hill was a woman named Helen Zhao, a highly accomplished geneticist who had recently arrived at Stark Industries to provide technical support. The fact that she had come from South Korea, a country notorious for its gender discrimination, to work in the United States, to carve out a niche for herself in her field, and to establish the U-Gin Research Center, rather than becoming the bride of a chaebol heir, demonstrated her exceptional intelligence and vision.

She is a respectable person because of her knowledge.

Natasha Romanoff hurriedly pushed a stretcher off the plane, and Dr. Helen Zhao rushed to meet her. This was why she had come to Stark Tower; Hawkeye Clint needed treatment. Seeing Clint being taken into a ward, everyone breathed a slight sigh of relief. "Will he be alright?" Agent Romanoff asked. "I remember you know healing magic, don't you?"

She emphasized the word "treatment".

"That was just a minor injury. If I had intervened, Clint should have been able to keep one kidney," Salomon shrugged. "But that Ms. Zhao doesn't seem to want anyone else involved in her work. Shouldn't I, as a representative of superstition, temporarily step aside in the light of science?"

Natasha rolled her eyes at him, then ran inside with the stretcher.

As soon as Thor got off the plane, he opened his arms, intending to give the arcane mage an extremely rude hug.

"Buddy, you missed a great fight." Thor, clutching his spoils, offered a good-natured smirk, mocking the warrior before him who had missed the battle. His expression was remarkably relaxed, as was Steve Rogers'. Captain Rogers hoped that finding the scepter would mean ending the Chitauri affair and Hydra, though he knew it was unrealistic, but that didn't mean he couldn't breathe a sigh of relief. Before everyone had even disembarked, Thor began his self-praise—an Asgardian tradition where after every battle, fine wine and boasting were indispensable. If a bard were present, Thor would have bragged even more enthusiastically, as if he were currently in a tavern, unleashing a wave of revelry.

“I’m a good student, and I won’t miss a single class I’m supposed to attend.” Salomon extended his fingers, gloved in white. “I’m going to examine the scepter now. Stark, Dr. Banner, want to come along?”

"Don't rush things, boy." Stark patted the arcane mage on the shoulder. "We still have some time before the scepter is returned to Asgard. Have a drink first, then think about whether you want to attend Saturday's party. I guarantee you don't have any classes on Saturday."

"Don't let Sir Arnold Abingson hear this. He's an Englishman and doesn't like American raucous parties," Salomon said. "And I hate strangers too."

"Little hedgehog, stay away from those British parties with violins, you need American parties."

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This battle was different from hunting. After understanding the survival habits of wild animals, he could survive in most situations thanks to his strength and speed far exceeding that of an average adult male, as well as the combat skills honed through continuous and rigorous training. However, in the face of the front lines of modern warfare, especially against emotionless artificial intelligence, none of these things were as effective as the heavy-duty bullet gun in his hand. Bullets have the highest right of way on the battlefield, and no one can argue with that.

Hunting is not exactly the same as fighting on the front lines.

On the battlefield, only the most savage strength and the fastest speed are the only keys to survival; only the most brilliant minds and the most flexible tactics can inflict as much damage as possible while ensuring survival. Salomon plans to send the boy to the most intense battleground, equipping him with only a bomb gun, a few magazines, a short sword, a standard knight's longsword, and a set of light bulletproof armor and a powered exoskeleton. This commander-level equipment is sufficient to keep him alive on the battlefield. His helmet will record the number of kills, and only by reaching the predetermined standard can the boy pass the first phase of training. Only by surviving and completing the objective can the boy undergo the next phase of surgery.

All of this was contingent on him completing his linguistics, mathematics, and tactical strategy exams on Saturday morning. The surgery enhanced not only his muscles but also his brain, making learning extremely difficult for ordinary people relatively easy for him. The genetic modification wasn't just about creating powerful war machines; it was about creating a perfect human being.

"Don't try to outmuscle machines. Be agile, be agile, only then can you survive on the battlefield." With a flick of his wrist, the longsword, which had been parried, reversed direction, slicing a shallow wound on the boy's arm. As the sorcerer passed by, he kicked the boy's shin, reminding him to watch his step. The boy grunted twice in dissatisfaction; he wasn't frowning because of the pain in his arm wound, but because he was frustrated that he couldn't keep up with the monarch's pace.

Bad habits formed during previous hunting training are being corrected, but this takes time.

"I need time!" The boy swung his sword suddenly, so fast that he was just a blur. "It took me months to get used to the fighting style on that planet."

"Don't beg me for things that don't exist!" Salomon dodged the blade, striking the boy's wrist with the hilt. The force sent the weapon flying, and the boy tried to pick it up, but the arcane mage's sword was already pointed at his throat. "You don't have time." He looked down at the boy, his expression as stern as an iceberg. He turned his longsword and tapped the boy's neck with the blade. "Every battle is a surprise attack; you don't have time to prepare. You must be ready at all times, just like our enemies, who never let their guard down. You are a warrior I created; you have the ability to do so. Pick up your weapon, and we'll do it again."

The boy grinned and rubbed his wrist.

The tapping of the sword hilt ceased after a moment, one of the benefits of the surgery. He took a deep breath, and before his next heartbeat, he leaped backward, drawing his gun and firing. The bullets were deflected by the longsword just before they touched Salomon. The sorcerer stepped forward, placing the longsword once more beside the boy's neck. Only then did the scalding hot casings and deformed bullets fall to the ground, clanging against the marble floor.

"I think an ordinary person would be dead under such an attack." The boy smiled. "One minute, my lord?"

"Well done, but our enemies are no ordinary people." Salomon nodded. "If you're still at this level, one minute is enough for us to play several matches."

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(End of this chapter)