The boy stepped slowly into the pitch-black training hall, the rough linen cloth against his scrawny chest rasping with each movement, stinging his skin. Even more uncomfortable was the cold air in the hall; it brushed against his freshly shaven scalp and sent an involuntary shiver down his spine. The smooth, icy marble beneath his bare feet was merciless, sapping the last of his body heat and leaving his toes numb. His footsteps echoed, crisp and solitary, like his own heartbeat—he was the only person in the room.
He had been chosen from among his people to take part in a ceremony that only he could attend.
For this ceremony, he would undergo intensive study, learning things he had never touched before: politics, military science, geography, mathematics, physics, and chemistry. The effects of this short but intense period of learning were beginning to show. Unlike the other boys in the tribe who preferred jumping, playing with snowballs, bows, and short blades, he had always enjoyed sitting at the prophet's side, listening to stories. The prophet had often told him of the tragic death of John I Tzimiskes, a 10th-century Byzantine emperor, and the tale of Basil II, known as the "Bulgar Slayer." Tonight, Sophia, the clan leader and daughter of the prophet, had dragged him from a bed that was neither particularly warm nor soft and brought him here, making him walk in alone. Then she had left, ignoring the boy's questions.
Even without knowing why, he pushed forward.
He swallowed the fear mixed with cold, rolling it around on his tongue. During that short walk, he thought of many things—yet at the same time, nothing at all. It was as if something ahead was calling to him, drawing him forward in a mechanical, instinctual march.
A single beam of light pierced the darkness of the hall, and in an instant, the cold vanished. Momentarily stunned, the boy straightened up. He squinted into the light and saw a shadowy figure standing at the center of the hall.
"Good evening, descendant of Theodora," the figure said gently. "From this day forward, your real training begins."
"What training?" the boy asked.
It was a feeling he couldn't describe with the words he had. A sense of destiny that language had not yet given him the tools to explain.
"The harshest training in the world, child." As the light dimmed, the boy gradually saw the figure more clearly. It was a tall man with long black curls and features carved like a Greek statue—sharp and flawless. With a kind smile, the man said, "But I believe you can endure it. Look—those are your armor and weapons. Someday, you'll be worthy of wearing that armor."
The boy quickly glanced in the direction the man pointed.
"That's too big," he said nervously. "I can't grow that tall—not like a house."
"We'll figure something out," the man said with a grin, walking forward and resting his large hand atop the boy's head. Like a warm breath, the gesture dispelled all the fatigue in the boy's body. "This will be a long service. You'll face mental pressure beyond what most humans can bear—but you can handle it. I promise you'll wear that armor and stand at my side against enemies humanity can't even comprehend—or command the largest fleet this world has ever known, giving the order to blast those revolting creatures into dust."
"Why me?" the boy looked up at him, his clear blue eyes searching.
The man looked momentarily embarrassed. Whatever sacred aura had surrounded him was broken by the mischievous curve of his lips—he looked like he was about to laugh, and maybe even felt a little awkward. Only then did the boy realize how young the man actually was. He had no beard. He was strong, vibrant, not old at all. But the boy still couldn't look directly into his glowing eyes. It was as if those eyes could uncover all his little secrets—like how he sometimes snuck food at night, or how, in Siberia, when he couldn't sleep, he'd go to the edge of the village and throw stones into the well.
He feared those embarrassing secrets would be found out.
He was trembling.
"Because you're the best fit," the man said with a raised brow, smiling. "That's not just sweet talk—it's coincidence. I was looking for the right candidate. And you showed up. That's all."
No one knew why this boy with surgical scars was always following Solomon. No one knew why he carried a short blade and a handgun. Anyone unaware of the situation would be horrified and outraged by the scars covering his small body. But for the boy himself, even though dozens more surgeries awaited, the results of the first phase alone were enough to satisfy him.
It felt like a long dream.
He had grown taller, his brain worked faster, his reflexes were sharper. His appetite increased, and the once-skinny limbs started to develop muscle. He could now hit targets with a short bow that had once seemed impossible. He wasn't just a frail bookworm anymore—everything was moving in the right direction.
The surgical procedures were custom-designed for him. Maya Hansen had spent an entire month preparing without rest before diving into the next phase of work. With an established template, the process moved quickly. The boy's body now carried all the bio-lab's cutting-edge results: Extremis gene editing, alien gene engineering, and biochemical implants, all involving advanced medical technologies and powerful alchemy. As he grew, more surgeries would follow, with daily medical checks to ensure that implants and gene modifications didn't cause side effects.
This process would continue until he achieved the final form: the template for the Golden-armored Imperial Guard. But that was just the blueprint. Maya Hansen was personalizing each case. The boy's final form would differ slightly from the baseline design.
After the first stage, the boy would undergo mental and chemical adjustment through Solomon's mindscape spells and brain-computer interfaces—becoming a superhuman even on a psychological level. This was an arduous, prolonged process. Modern science was still in its infancy when it came to brain research. Even with massive investment and future-derived tech, the boy still had to be placed in a life-support capsule during these sessions to avoid severe physiological fluctuations during the mental alterations.
"What did you do to this child?" Natasha Romanoff stared at the boy, suspicion in her voice.
Though she had refused Solomon's invitation, her emotions had compelled her to visit Immortal City—if only to make sure Solomon hadn't truly gone through with something inhumane. What she found wasn't the hell she had feared, but the boy's surgical scars were undeniable. Had she known he had grown twenty centimeters in a single week, she might have jumped out of her skin.
The boy quietly ate his chocolate cake, oblivious to the conversation between the spy and the arcane master. He wore noise-canceling headphones so he couldn't hear anything else. After the mental adjustments and implant surgeries, his senses had become hyper-sensitive. He was still in the adaptation stage. Normally, at this point in the process, he should have been dropped into the forest for wilderness survival training—not sitting here eating cake.
But Natasha Romanoff's arrival had interrupted that plan.
Solomon spread his arms, completely unfazed. "Some things just have to be done, Natasha."
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Fairy Tail: Igneel's Eldest Son (Chapter 256)
I Am Thalos, Odin's Older Brother (Chapter 336)
Reborn in America's Anti-Terror Unit (Chapter 542)
Solomon in Marvel (Chapter 924)
Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1284)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1289)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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