Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 833 The Evil of Superstition (First Update)

"What, a lockdown?" The boy sat up abruptly. The sudden movement aggravated the chafing on his back, making him wince in pain. But he immediately noticed that his wounds had been treated and bandaged, and he smelled of antibiotics typical of hospitals. He relaxed slightly, remembering the antibacterial gel Salomon had given him—a cool, pungent substance that could make your ribs clench with just a whiff. The smell of those medications was exactly the same as what he was smelling now.

"Yes, we have already started a war against the angels." Constantine helped the boy sit up from the hospital bed.

"You guys actually..." the boy sighed, "How's the situation now?"

"If you're asking yourself, you weren't in good condition when we found you, but fortunately, you didn't have many external injuries. If you're asking about our Lord's servants, then our anti-aircraft fire has already taken down many angels, and there haven't been many casualties yet," the Royal Guard said. "That's the current situation. No one can easily cross the line between the angels and us. If you want to do so, you'll face enormous risks. But if you insist on doing so, we're not unwilling to pay the price to send you up, boy."

The guard stepped back, showing the boy the high-tech equipment in the infirmary and the halberd in his hand. "On this earth, only we have the ability to break through the angels' defenses and deliver you to Mount Finnbowent, so I want you to tell me what I want to know. For example, what you know about the monarch's condition—according to the sorority's testimony, you should have fallen from the bridge to heaven like the monarch. Where is my lord, boy?"

"Do you really want to know?" the boy sighed. "Actually, I don't even know which era he's in right now." Constantine stared at him silently, putting immense pressure on the boy. The boy couldn't help but exclaim, "I really don't know! The power of the Eye of the World hasn't affected him! All I know is that to resolve everything, I must climb to the top of Mount Finnbowent to solve the problem, and perhaps then your monarch will return."

"This is one solution." Constantine nodded, not too fixated on Salomon's whereabouts. The boy was unaware of the connection between the Royal Guard and Salomon, so he didn't pay much attention. However, if the others in the Immortal City had seen this, they would surely have found the Royal Guard's behavior rather strange. "Wait here. I will take you to the summit of Mount Finnbowent when the operation begins."

"Hey, there's one more question. Where am I right now?"

"Sky Carrier Retribution. Someone will bring you a nutritious meal shortly; just wait here." Constantine closed the infirmary door and locked the boy inside. After Constantine left, the boy immediately jumped out of bed and cautiously walked to the door and turned the doorknob. His face immediately turned quite grim, confirming that the Royal Guard was indeed Salomon's subordinate, their methods almost identical. "He's telling the truth," Constantine said to Baron Mordo, who stood in the corridor. "Perhaps the solution is to send him to the summit of Mount Finnbowent. But I have another question: why did the Sorcerer Supreme say there was no need to worry about the Monarch's whereabouts?"

"You've stumped me. I don't know either; no one can fathom the Venerable's plans." Mordo shrugged and said with a smile, "But you don't need to worry too much. The Venerable always keeps an eye on Salomon. He'll be fine. Maybe he'll just pop out of some box in a little while, like one of his childhood pranks."

"I will prepare the assault team." Constantine did not refute, but left the infirmary guarded by the sorcerer.

If Mordo's statement is correct, that would be all the better. If the monarch does not appear, the Royal Guard will fulfill its duty. He would never entrust the monarch's safety to anyone else, let alone Kamar-Taj, who would not prioritize the monarch's life.

Now he holds supreme authority over the Immortal City, and even the Ministry of Internal Affairs must obey his orders. Tita received a communication from the Royal Guard; a few minutes later, the most skilled warriors of the Sisterhood were redeployed from the front lines and returned to the Sky Carrier, the Punisher. Victoria Hand and Sophia's elite soldiers were also assembled to await orders. Constantine planned to personally lead this team, composed of Sisters and mortals, to the summit of Mount Finnbowent. He didn't care how many would die along the way. If sacrificing the entire Immortal City could save the monarch, the Royal Guard would not hesitate.

But that's not enough.

"Great Sage," he said to the Fifth Demon Pillar, far away on Mars, "I need your help."

A cold, synthesized electronic voice responded. "Approval approved... NERV Legion test vehicle is about to depart. Estimated arrival in 21600 seconds. For humanity's destiny to rule the galaxy."

The man raised his pitchfork with fervor, cheering loudly before the giant fire. Young men from the village cheered as well, but the man considered himself the most glorious, for his pitchfork bore his trophy: a head he had personally severed—the head of a blasphemer, the head of a sorcerer, the head of a banshee. It was his sacrifice to the god he worshipped. He had been the first to rush forward after the priest had silenced the banshee's sorcery with holy words. Cold, sticky blood dripped onto his eyelids, but he felt no disgust. The others had only managed to grab an arm or a leg; the body parts were thrown into the fire to prevent others from being harmed by their sorcery. This was the priest's command, and no one dared disobey him, for he was doing it for their own good, to point out the culprits who destroyed farmland, caused miscarriages in women, and drove young men mad—the same culprits behind cats in heat, stealing milk, shearing sheep, and leading woodcutters astray.

They are righteous; they are fighting to protect the lives of ordinary people!

The villagers, having obtained their spoils, spontaneously lit bonfires, celebrating this great day—a day that proved their devout faith—as if it were a festival. The witch's head stared wide-eyed, her torn face covered in blood and grime. The firelight reflected in her lifeless eyes, and her exquisite earrings, stained with dried blood, swayed with the movement of her pitchfork, providing a light accompaniment to the cheering crowd.

Even with his head chopped off, he's still so beautiful! The man raised his head and spat on his head.

The warmth of the flames searing his back and the overwhelming passion intoxicated him, and he also smelled the mouthwatering aroma of roasted meat.

The man glanced around, then, taking advantage of a moment when no one was looking, bent down and picked up a gold jewel from a black garment on the ground—this trip couldn't be in vain; perhaps it could be a gift for his wife? The moment this thought crossed his mind, he shuddered with fear. Maybe it was enchanted; perhaps the witch's dying curse would cripple and idiot his child!

He was determined to offer his jewelry to the church in exchange for the pastor's blessing, thus demonstrating his piety.

"Shameless succubus!" A woman dressed in coarse linen, clutching the book given to her by the pastor, shouted, pointing at the head on the pitchfork, "Go to hell! You witches who only seduce men! Look here! Your souls will be cursed by God!" Even a child clinging to the woman's apron was shouting.

"They'll steal children! Those old witches!" someone shouted. At this, the woman immediately clutched her child, fearing another living witch might snatch him away. But the fear didn't last long, for everyone around the fire felt a strange, visceral dread. Out of the corner of their eyes, they saw a tall figure in golden armor slowly pass through the crowd. It was a man radiating light, enveloped in incense and warm glow; his divine presence was unmistakable.

"This must be a messenger of God!" someone shouted. "Our piety has been proven!"

The villagers eagerly presented their spoils to the giant, even though they were just mangled limbs, they offered them as a testament to their devotion to the messenger of God.

So the messengers of God began the killing.

Please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)