Before boarding the plane, Laura waved to Solomon in farewell.
She was heading to Syria to conduct research, using clues from local historical sites to verify the materials her father had collected. Before her departure, she had a heated argument with her stepmother, though she didn't tell Solomon about it.
Her family was firmly against her archaeological pursuits.
After all, she had paused her Master by Research degree to embark on an adventure—something no ordinary university student would do.
The Crawford family was old money in the truest sense.
Even though Sir Richard Crawford had been dismissed by London's high society and the tabloids as a delusional eccentric before his death, the family's wealth and foundation could ensure that Laura never had to worry about money.
All she had to do was accept Crawford Manor, and the entire family estate would be hers—rather than remaining under the control of her stepmother, the acting executor.
Of course, even then, she still wouldn't be able to afford a Gulfstream G550.
Liquid assets were limited, and private jets were absurdly expensive.
If Quinjets didn't require specialized pilots, Solomon would've gladly given her one instead.
Jumping the queue to order a brand-new private jet was nearly impossible. If not for the AI's assistance, even Solomon wouldn't have been able to pull it off.
Still, he trusted Laura to take care of herself.
That's why the plane wasn't just carrying a ridiculous amount of small arms—it also had a rocket launcher for extreme situations.
Laura had another mission as well.
The jet carried high-tech beacons that she could activate if she encountered danger, allowing Solomon to track her location.
And if she found war orphans, she could adjust the beacon to another frequency and give it to them.
Solomon would retrieve the children and ensure they were raised properly.
Laura knew what Solomon had done in Eastern Europe.
She admired him for it.
Not everyone had the ability to turn the criminal underworld upside down and still walk away unscathed.
At least, not as an individual.
She had even heard rumors that Solomon bombarded gang hideouts with heavy artillery, treating his operations as small-scale high-intensity warfare rather than mere skirmishes.
Unlike most Western gangs that relied on small arms, Eastern Europe's leftover Soviet arsenals meant that serious firepower was required.
Some gangs even had Katyusha rocket launchers.
If Solomon hadn't outgunned them, there was no way he could've successfully extracted people from Eastern Europe.
But when Laura finally boarded the plane, she immediately noticed something was missing—Solomon hadn't packed the boltgun and chainsword she had coveted for so long.
Instead, there was a .50-caliber sniper rifle.
That would have to do.
—
Solomon didn't linger at Heathrow Airport.
Driving through a portal, he returned to Eternal City.
There, hidden in a subterranean chamber that even Maya Hansen, Stephanie Malik, and Natasha Romanoff didn't know about, was a spy he was still training.
Lorelei.
His training methods adhered strictly to BDSM principles.
At this point, Lorelei's Stockholm syndrome had already set in—but she needed a bit more conditioning before he could send her back to Asgard.
Even when he eventually returned her, Solomon would have to help her evade Heimdall's gaze and Odin's ravens.
Lorelei was his most critical piece.
The technological leap of Eternal City depended entirely on this daughter of the Rhine.
But Solomon wasn't the type to discard his pieces.
He had some humanity, after all.
As long as Lorelei completed her mission, she would always have a place by his side.
A place where she could share in power.
And for her, that was enough.
This had always been her ultimate goal—to obtain a level of power comparable to her enchantress sister.
"My dear."
He kissed her pale cheek, hidden beneath her fiery red hair.
He didn't allow Lorelei to wear clothes in this chamber.
"Are you ready for today's training?"
The daughter of the Rhine trembled, slipping a thin iron chain into Solomon's hand.
"Good girl."
His voice was low and rich, filled with an irresistible allure that made her utterly intoxicated.
"Since you're ready, let's begin."
—
The All-Father summoned Solomon.
Literally.
While reading at the Bodleian Library, Solomon suddenly felt a presence calling to him.
Returning his books, he cautiously answered—only to find himself facing a large raven.
Odin ordered Solomon to drag several corpses—clad in black, lightweight armor—into a pit.
Then, he handed Solomon several grenade-like objects, baton-like devices, and wrist-worn portable computers.
Each corpse bore bite marks from canine fangs, their throats ripped open.
A glance at Odin's two massive wolves told Solomon who had done it.
The burial pit was enormous.
As he dug, he unearthed bones wrapped in black bulletproof armor.
He moved several paces forward, dug again—more bones.
Hundreds of bodies were buried here.
Which meant that since arriving on Earth, Odin had been killing people every day.
These corpses were human.
But Solomon had no idea where they had come from.
Even attempting prophecy yielded false results—because the visions told him these people were still alive.
"Tell no one."
Odin gave no explanation.
He didn't say why he was doing this.
Didn't say where these people had come from.
Once Solomon finished the job, Odin dismissed him.
Now, standing alone, Solomon studied the high-tech devices in his hands, completely clueless about their function.
Casually pressing a few buttons, he triggered the wrist computer's holographic projection.
Frigga's half-body image appeared.
Solomon frowned and shook his head.
Pulling out his phone, he dialed Shuri.
He knew where these corpses had come from.
Maintaining the Multiverse and the Time Stone was part of Kamar-Taj's duty—he was aware of the mysterious organization involved.
Magic couldn't be used there, because there were no magical entities or concepts to supply power.
"I have something you'll find interesting," Solomon said in Xhosa.
"I promise—it's just like that suit."
For some reason, the nano-time-travel suit brought by the other world's Captain America had been a crippled version—it lacked Pym Particles.
If Solomon wanted to use it, he'd have to obtain them himself.
Even though Hank Pym was living in seclusion, getting a vial of Pym Particles wasn't difficult—the real challenge was dealing with that grumpy old man.
But aside from his terrible temper, Hank Pym was actually quite likable.
Solomon didn't care about bad attitudes.
He cared about knowledge.
And he had plenty of ways to persuade Hank Pym.
Honestly, though, he was just looking for an excuse to argue with someone.
The technology in the suit had left Shuri dazzled.
However, Solomon had temporarily forbidden her from destructive testing on the only available sample.
But these new devices—he had several of them.
Enough to satisfy Shuri's curiosity.
"You have a lot to analyze," Solomon remarked.
"But first, we need to set up an anti-portal formation in Eternal City.
"Something wants to come through.
"And we need to kill them."
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