Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 868 The General (Second Update)

"You always think the regime is as solid as a rock, Mycroft." Salomon scorned Mycroft's confidence, pointing his own arrogance at Mycroft's. "You always dance wildly in the shadows of Whitehall as if no one can see your clumsy steps, as if you can dodge every blade. You actually think I won't spare a vampire or two and throw them into Whitehall, utterly destroying the administrative heart of the British Empire, destroying your warm lair."

"Chaos won't do you any good, and I know perfectly well that even if you wanted to create chaos, you wouldn't do it this way. I know, and you know I know." Mycroft shrugged. "We're on the same page, and we both carry secrets. So let's be a little more honest and let me understand some of the mysteries that were unsolved years ago. What exactly is your relationship with S.H.I.E.L.D., or rather, Nick Fury? Why did MI6 find you existing on both sides of the Earth? I'll venture a hypothesis: one of you is a fake—perhaps that's a crude inference, but another way to put it is that both of you are you. I don't yet understand your methods, so let's clear up my doubts. Isn't that the purpose of our conversation?"

"Now that I've located your blood relatives, I can tell you some things you can know. Only then will it be fair," Salomon said calmly, ignoring Mycroft's questioning expression. "I was present at the Battle of New York, which is why the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. came to me. Also, you guessed it, it's me in both New York and Oxford. But like magic, it seems amazing at first glance, but once you think about the principles, everything becomes quite ordinary."

“Magic,” Mycroft said. “That’s why you came to see my stupid brother. You showed me, right there in the library, so it all makes sense. I’ve read Maugham’s *The Magician*, and the fact that you didn’t use allusions or codes to speak to me is completely unexpected.”

"Nick Fury initially thought I was a wizard living in a cave," Salomon chuckled. He and Nick Fury got along quite well, though they often argued, but true friends were rare. "That's an exaggeration. The intelligence of you three siblings is already among the best in humanity."

Mycroft jumped up from the soft chair.

Without hesitation, he drew his umbrella handle and pointed the slender blade at Salomon's neck. Only then did the wine glass he had thrown shatter on the floor, staining the expensive handmade wool floor. This civil servant possessed a skill that belied his appearance, yet Salomon didn't even glance at him. To the mystic who had traversed mountains of corpses and seas of blood, Mycroft's threat was as weak and feeble as the cane-sword—Mycroft was extremely nervous; Salomon had struck him where it hurt. He wasn't afraid that Salomon would expose the fact that he had built a prison to imprison his sister; he was afraid that Salomon would send someone to release his exceptionally intelligent, antisocial sister. No one knew what terrible things she was capable of; compared to her, Sherlock Holmes's concept of antisocial personality disorder was like a naive infant.

"Secrets always have to be exchanged for secrets. Don't always think you're the only one who can keep your secrets," Salomon said. "You ruined my plans, Mycroft. Someone has to pay the bill."

"You don't understand her evil," Mycroft said through gritted teeth. He tried to calm himself down.

"Magic originates from intense emotions evoked by certain special senses, such as fanatical faith, uncontrollable curiosity, and deep-seated hatred. Not all prophecies foreshadowed your disruption of my plans, but I still made a few preparations. A gunboat arrived in the waters near your prison last night, ready to act at any moment," Salomon said. "I chose Sherlock because of his sense of responsibility, talent, and curiosity. Although the last one is somewhat untimely, I believe he can control himself with training. You and your sister are equally talented, and given that you disrupted my planned selection process, I had no choice but to choose your sister. She is more talented and easier to manage."

Salomon glanced at his watch, then pointed to the ringing phone beside him. "You can answer it now, because thirty seconds ago, as planned, the gunships opened fire with machine guns as a show of force, destroying the prison's anti-aircraft defenses. Don't worry, this isn't a call from Downing Street; my men have already identified the caller. Do you want me to say his name, the one you planted in the prison?"

"You don't understand her evil, Salomon." Mycroft didn't answer the phone. He repeated, "Don't go looking for her, she'll kill everyone."

"Then help me, and you'll also make amends for your mistakes, so that I can continue to guide your brother down that path."

"You must explain to me clearly what risks are involved in taking that path."

"It's just that he might sacrifice himself to save all of humanity at any time, just like me. There's nothing wrong with that; at least it will broaden your brother's horizons far beyond this small island of Great Britain. But don't think about gaining any benefit through him. That's not allowed. The magical world is a thoroughly feudal society, practicing social Darwinism and the law of the jungle. Might makes right, so if I were in another identity and you still spoke to me in this manner, I would have the right to kill you. If he helps you gain profits in the mortal world, from the perspective of a certain human kingdom, then I would also have the right to kill him."

Mycroft remained silent. He slowly lowered his cane and sword, not of his own volition. The man before him seemed to be transforming, becoming something beyond his comprehension, something he could hardly understand.

"General, Cabinet Secretary. Now it's your turn to make a choice," the sorcerer said calmly. "By the way, those SAS members seeking revenge are now mine, including their families. I'm lacking some experienced veterans as instructors."

"Your families have been properly taken care of," Constantine said, leaning down to the restless soldiers. They had never intended to seek revenge on Mycroft; it was all Salomon's lie, a way to ensure their legal discharge without being wanted. Mycroft's power had filled them with resentment, and the recording had further solidified their loyalty to the British Empire. They had been somewhat bewildered as they boarded the gunship with the Immortal City's entourage, and Constantine's words completely put them at ease. "We've prepared new homes for you; pack your bags and move in. Your children can attend private schools in America, and with excellent grades, they can work for our company in the future," the guard said. "There's also a pension, paid in until they're 150."

"Who are you people?" A soldier with a thick London accent looked around, surprised to find that the women in black power armor were surprisingly young and beautiful. These girls were wreaking havoc in the London sewers, but apart from the stench of blood and burnt flesh, their faces were clean as if they were about to go shopping. "And what are those monsters? I recognize you. You were in Sokovia. I've seen you on TV, except you weren't carrying this stick then." He asked, "This isn't the Avengers. Is the boss Tony Stark? Are you some kind of robot?"

"No." Wanda Maximov frowned, tugging at the dirt-covered ends of her hair to clean them. "We're not that kind of naive organization."

Please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)