Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 859 The Magic Black Market (Happy New Year! First Update!)

Inside the Doorless Bar, a renowned wizarding gathering place in New York, everyone frowned, glancing at each new customer out of the corner of their eye. Unlike Stephen Strange, who lost control of the wizarding world after becoming the Sorcerer Supreme, the current Sorcerer Supreme wielded immense power over the magical world. Since that decree was issued, the Doorless Bar, a gathering place operating in a gray area, had seen its customer traffic drop by at least half. Most of the remaining unaffiliated spellcasters who dared to come to the Doorless Bar had registered.

While these customers weren't all highly skilled wizards, they sensed the impending turmoil in the magical world. So when Salomon entered the Doorless Bar, several wild spellcasters he recognized immediately surrounded him, trying to gather information—Count Kooz from Siberia, with his strong odor and muscular build, pushed his way to the front. "This is a manly young man," he said to the others, pointing at Salomon. "You'd never guess, I watched him grow up. He was so small then, barely a finger's length. Now he's taller than me, probably because he learned my training methods: winter hikes, wrestling with wild boars, uprooting trees with his bare hands…you sissies could never do that."

"Merlin's beard! Earl Kooz, we have no interest in why you're so muscular, get to the point!"

"Alright, alright." Count Kooz nodded reluctantly. "Little fellow, we all want to ask what's going on with the Supreme Sorcerer's orders! It's not that we're unwilling to obey His Holiness's orders, it's just that these orders come out of nowhere. Did His Holiness foretell some great calamity? Don't look at me like that, although the locals call me a prophet, I can't make any prophecies."

"We all know," the British wizard managed to squeeze out a weak voice, "you're just a barbarian."

The bar without doors was as lively as ever.

Magic was strictly forbidden in fights, and Count Kooz quickly gained the upper hand, overwhelming the British wizard and the American wizard. Salomon only managed to catch his breath from Count Kooz's pungent odor after the bar owner used a stick to separate the crowd. He hadn't seen what was happening before, thinking a talking brown bear had wandered into the bar, since Count Kooz smelled almost like a bear. "I'm just here to post a notice," he told the bar owner. "His Holiness has given everyone plenty of time; as long as you don't violate the laws of Kamar-Taj, there shouldn't be any problems."

"No Doors also welcomes Kamar-Taj sorcerers." The bar owner looked up cautiously at Salomon, "But now, with the atmosphere tense, we've lost more than half our customers. They've all gone to the black market ports in the New York sewers, where they don't really welcome you or any Kamar-Taj sorcerers."

"I know."

Salomon used a small spell to stick a parchment bearing the Kamar-Taj emblem onto the damp, moldy wall next to the aphrodisiac potions, wanted posters, and love potions. Anyone trying to tear the parchment would have to rip the wall off along with the parchment. After doing this, he waved a stack of parchments at the crowd; the contents were identical to the notices on the wall. "I'm going to check that out later," he said with a wicked grin. "That place will have to be cleaned up sooner or later anyway; I don't mind someone being brought to justice immediately."

"The will of the Venerable One," Count Kooz asked gruffly. "Boy, do you need any help?"

The Siberian prophet astutely understood Salomon's true purpose in visiting the magical black market. Any spellcaster could see just how extravagant Salomon's attire was—the iron-black gloves, the blood-red shroud, and the various miscellaneous magical items were enough to bring tears to the eyes of any spellcaster with magical vision. The magical black market in the New York sewers was a notorious gray area, and this kind of equipment was something those penniless individuals had never seen before. Although Kamar-Taj sorcerers had frequented the magical black market more than once, none had ever dressed so solemnly.

Not to mention the long and short knives hanging at his waist and the large-caliber pistol holstered on his thigh; clearly, Salomon did it on purpose, wanting someone to cause trouble. "I don't think so," he said. "There's bound to be some bloodshed there today, but it certainly won't be mine."

The Sorcerer Supreme's reputation is built on fists and swords, but not everyone obeys his commands.

After the notice was posted, Salomon still had to finish up a previous task. He had already received payment from Kunlun and couldn't delay any longer; he had to wipe out all the Hand members eyeing the Dragonbone today. This day was the last day of the Christmas holidays, a day later known to New Yorkers as "Hell's Kitchen's Bloody Night." But in reality, the bloodshed in Hell's Kitchen paled in comparison to the black market ports in New York's sewers. The previous Battle of Finnbowent was unknown due to the Kamar-Taj blockade, but this time Salomon openly made his name—it was a demiplane hidden in a dimensional rift, its entrance located in an ancient sewer. Anyone wanting to go there had to board a small boat from a ferryman to enter the demiplane correctly; otherwise, they would have to wade through sewage. No one knows when this place came into being, nor who discovered and established this small demiplane. Naturally, it became a place for some arcane sorcerers trying to escape Kamar-Taj, or for conducting some shady deals.

This is a small shadow under the authority of the Supreme Master.

Kamar-Taj is usually reluctant to manage such places, not for any ridiculous reasons like respecting freedom, but simply because His Holiness has no interest in such trivial matters. However, when His Holiness issues a command, even these normally neglected shadowy corners must obey. Salomon's purpose in coming here is to re-establish Kamar-Taj's authority and to let His Holiness's radiance shine upon this place once more. He was the last to depart; other Kamar-Taj sorcerers, such as Kasirius, had already taken on the task of clearing out the Norse magical black market.

His Holiness, understanding Salomon's sentiments, wanted him to go home for dinner early, which is why he left the New York mission to him.

The so-called ferryman was actually a voodoo zombie shrouded in a tattered black robe. This zombie had existed since the black market was established and was still following the final command. Salomon had no coins to pass through, and the patrons of the Doorless Bar dared not admit they had been there, so no one gave him any coins—although everyone knew they had been to the black market, saying it out loud was another matter entirely.

"Take me there." Salomon stepped onto the small boat with the lantern hanging from it, and even though he had no coins, the ferryman still set sail.

The warm yellow light swayed with the creaking of the ferryman's boat as he rowed, casting grotesque shadows on the red brick arched ceiling. The small boat sped along the stinking, slow-moving water. Hidden in the shadows of the sewers, in corners unseen by the light, were terrifying monsters from fairy tales, their shadows gradually emerging from cracks in the walls, from rusty grates, from the filthy, black sewage, their soft rustling blending with the sound of the flowing water. The boat continued its journey, the traces of modernity diminishing with each step, until the sewer's arch was replaced by rough stone slabs, and the grates by rotten wood. Swarms of black, venomous snakes clung to the boat, their tiny, glowing heads peeking out from above the hull. The stench grew increasingly heavy, almost suffocating.

It was like a small boat sailing through a nightmare, but Salomon seemed completely unconcerned.

Happy New Year! Please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)