Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 976 A Fake Leisurely Life (Second Update)

The holiday at the Oxfordshire manor was very pleasant, and the Immortal City was operating on its own as Salomon had envisioned, making intensive preparations for war. The arcane mages distributed tasks to those who were originally supposed to take on these roles; although this was inefficient, it allowed them to adapt to the limits of their original abilities.

For days, Salomon hadn't had anything to worry about. The only time he left the manor to open a portal to America was to drag Lorna and her friends away from a party—the awful state of American teenage parties, the cheap tequila, the variety of drugs from who-knows-where, and the many occupied rooms upstairs all explained why Salomon looked down on American parties. Whether it was a teenage party or an adult party (specifically Tony Stark's), it thoroughly illustrated the importance of taste. After receiving a call from his foster mother, he went to the garage, grabbed a .50 caliber bolt-action rifle and a longsword, drove his pickup truck with American license plates through the portal, and headed straight for the party Lorna was attending.

What followed was quite a delightful scene.

He dragged Lorna from the party, firing only a few shots that caused minor damage to the marble kitchen countertop, ceiling, and some glass. Aside from the panicked screams of a group of teenagers, a bottle of OxyContin, a bag of marijuana cigarettes, and a few grams of heroin, there were no injuries. "I don't care what American law says, but here, anything containing psychoactive substances is a drug," he told Lorna, who sat sullenly in the passenger seat. Clearly, this teenage girl felt Salomon was too strict, like a rigid, conservative parent—in Athena's eyes, Salomon was a model teenager. No rebellious phase, no drug use, focused solely on studying—the kind of child everyone admired. However, Salomon's next words changed the girl's initial anger.

"If you really need psychoactive drugs, you can get them from me. High purity, no adulteration." Salomon started the car before the police arrived. He didn't like confronting those doing their duty, nor did he want to hurt them. "I'm an alchemist, and I have plenty of these drugs, all homemade. Don't think I'd sell contraband to teenagers. These things are for learning specific kinds of magic, but since you're so curious about this stuff, I might as well let you know the downsides. Even I only take it when necessary. You can't expect to be high all day with it."

"So what are we going to do now?"

“Go talk to your drug dealer. I don’t care if he’s your friend or not, or how tragic his past is. I’ll make him understand how unwise it was to sell you contraband.” Salomon rested his rifle on his knees, his face grim. “I can’t guarantee there won’t be any bodies left behind. You think I drove this pickup truck here just to transport corpses? I’ll also talk to your principal. I know not all students at private schools are high achievers; many are second- or third-generation rich kids whose greatest achievement in life is paying their way into an Ivy League school and taking over the family business. That’s why they do drugs and alcohol…”

Little Lorna looked quite unwell.

"Hey! Look at me! Lorna Dane!" He raised his voice slightly, his tone becoming more stern, forcing little Lorna, who had witnessed his fighting prowess, to listen attentively. "We received a different education than those losers. We have bigger goals. If I catch you smoking marijuana again, I'll teach you a lesson on behalf of your foster mother. Do you understand? I'm not kidding... Step back, be an observer, and absolutely do not get involved in the absurd lives of liberal Gen Z. These people are not worth educating; they fantasize about having all sorts of psychological problems all day long. They don't even deserve to be thrown onto the battlefield as cannon fodder."

Salomon never paid attention to psychological problems specific to white people. In his view, the treatment for mental illnesses requiring humanitarian care (such as anxiety) was quite simple—place an apple on the person's head and have someone who had never used a gun shoot it. Once someone experienced that moment of life-or-death terror, any kind of affected mental illness could be cured. In reality, this method was highly inadvisable, but no one ever told him this, because his standard for judging a person was whether they possessed educational value and could create value for the entire human race, not how they achieved personal psychological breakthroughs.

Okay, actually he does care, but he only cares about people who are valuable. For example, he might talk to certain soldiers in his dreams because these soldiers will do great things in the future.

"How come you have time to bother with me?" Little Lorna asked, arms crossed. "Shouldn't you be in the Immortal City or at Oxford University? I heard from Ms. Minerva that you're currently pursuing many degrees and don't have time to come to the orphanage."

“I’m on vacation now,” Salomon said. He jerked the steering wheel, driving the pickup truck onto a damp side street, where a half-rotten rat carcass lay on the sewage-strewn concrete. “I haven’t taught anyone a lesson in a long time. Wait for me here…” He opened the door and got out. But as he reached for his gun and sword, little Lorna remembered how she had gotten Salomon to back down when she was a child.

"He's just a drug dealer, not some alien!"

"A worthless human being... Okay, okay, don't make that face! I'll teach them a lesson, I won't bring a gun, I'll use my fists!"

“I can’t imagine how leisurely your monarch is these days, Constantine. I can’t believe he’s dumped all this work on others; he used to handle these kinds of matters personally,” Nick Fury said, stuffing a steaming plate of fries into his mouth. “Or does he have other plans? What do you think?”

"I don't think this is any of your business, Nick Fury."

"Don't be so hostile, Constantine." The former director of S.H.I.E.L.D. continued to eat his dinner heartily. He hadn't showered for two days, spending all his time in this room. "You still need my help, don't you? Without my intelligence, how did you discover the secret passages at the current S.H.I.E.L.D. base? Speaking of which, why do you want those boxes in that research facility? Are they that important?"

“Yes, it’s very important,” Constantine said softly. Many S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were just a wall away from him. The Guardians didn’t like talking during infiltration missions, but Nick Fury was too annoying, and the S.H.I.E.L.D. base was his home turf, so he had to endure Fury’s nagging. “The lattices lining those boxes are made of a rare material. I need to get the method for making those lattices,” Constantine said. “I believe S.H.I.E.L.D. took a lot of documents during their energy search inspection, including this information.”

"What can those crystal lattices be used for?"

"Isolate extradimensional energy and stabilize the spellcaster's connection to the outer dimension." Constantine squeezed through the small door designed for ordinary people. Nick Fury couldn't discern his tone, but he was certain the Guardians were in low spirits. "This material is crucial to the Immortal City, and I must obtain this technology. Nick Fury, you're not helping me complete my mission, but rather to prevent me from killing these SHIELD agents. If you don't shut up, I'll have to kill them once I'm discovered."

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(End of this chapter)