"Data extraction complete." Solomon turned off his phone screen.
Stephanie had completed her mission. Before the Avengers even arrived, all of Strucker's research data had already fallen into the hands of the Immortal City. Solomon wasn't going to participate directly in this event—his role was behind the scenes.
He needed to find Ultron's code. He needed to uncover the reason for Ultron's betrayal. That answer would determine Solomon's stance on artificial intelligence and the future operating model of the Mars Foundry Project.
Still, he couldn't rule out the possibility that the Mind Stone itself was deliberately interfering. And so, when the Avengers returned to Stark Tower aboard their supersonic Quinjet, Solomon was already there waiting. He planned to examine the scepter—but first, he had to deal with the people in front of him.
Maria Hill was already waiting.
She held a tablet, standing beside Solomon with an unmistakably awkward expression. Few knew that Nick Fury was still alive—Solomon was one of them. And he also knew Hill still worked for him. For an agent, standing next to someone who knew so many of your secrets was its own kind of torment.
Standing beside her was Dr. Helen Cho, a brilliant geneticist who had recently arrived at Stark Tower to offer technical assistance. That she had come from a country like South Korea—where gender discrimination was notoriously rampant—and made a name for herself in the field of genetics without becoming just another trophy wife to a chaebol heir, was proof of her remarkable intelligence and vision.
She was someone to be respected—for her knowledge.
Natasha Romanoff rushed off the Quinjet, pushing a gurney. Dr. Cho moved quickly to meet her. That was why she was at Stark Tower—Clint Barton needed medical attention. As Hawkeye was wheeled into the infirmary, everyone let out a collective breath.
"Will he be alright?" Romanoff asked. "I remember—you know healing magic, don't you?" She put particular emphasis on the word healing.
"It's just a minor injury. If I do it, Clint might get to keep one of his kidneys," Solomon shrugged. "But that Dr. Cho doesn't seem like the type to let someone interfere with her work. Shouldn't I, as a representative of superstition, respectfully step aside before the light of science?"
Natasha rolled her eyes at him and followed the gurney inside.
Thor stepped off the plane with arms wide open, ready to give the arcanist a rough bear hug.
"Friend, you missed one glorious battle," Thor said with boisterous laughter, proudly carrying his spoils of war. His mood was light, and even Steve Rogers seemed relaxed. Finding the scepter didn't mean the end of the Chitauri or HYDRA, but it was a big step forward—and a rare moment to exhale.
Even before the rest of the team had fully disembarked, Thor was already boasting about his deeds—an Asgardian tradition. After every battle came mead and praise, and if a bard had been present, Thor would have launched into an epic, tavern-worthy performance.
"I'm a good student. I don't skip classes I'm meant to attend," Solomon said, extending a gloved hand. "Now, I'd like to examine the scepter. Stark, Dr. Banner—shall we?"
"Don't rush, kid," Stark said, clapping a hand on the arcanist's shoulder. "We've got time before the scepter goes back to Asgard. First, have a drink—and consider coming to the Saturday party. I know you don't have class on Saturday."
"Just don't let Sir Arnold Arbinson hear that. He's British, and he hates American-style parties."
"Little hedgehog, stay away from those violin-filled British soirées. What you need is an American party."
———
This battle wasn't like a hunt.
Once he understood the creature's habits, the boy could rely on strength and speed far beyond ordinary men—and the combat skills honed through relentless training—to survive most situations. But on a modern battlefield, especially against emotionless artificial intelligences, none of that mattered as much as his heavy blaster.
Bullets had the highest clearance on the battlefield. No one could argue with that.
Hunting and open combat weren't the same.
On the battlefield, only brute strength and extreme speed ensured survival. Only a clever mind and flexible tactics could allow a soldier to kill while staying alive. Solomon planned to deploy the boy into the thick of combat, armed with nothing but a heavy blaster, a few magazines, a short dagger, a standard knight's longsword, light ballistic armor, and a powered exoskeleton.
This officer-grade loadout would be enough to keep him alive. His helmet would track his kills—only by reaching the target number would his Phase I training be deemed complete. Survive and succeed, and he'd be eligible for the next surgery.
But first—he had to pass his linguistics, mathematics, and tactical strategy exams on Saturday morning.
His surgery hadn't just enhanced his muscles—his brain was far beyond ordinary. What was grueling for most students came easily to him. Genetic modification wasn't just about creating powerful war machines—it was about crafting a perfect human being.
"Don't compete with machines in strength. Be nimble—agility is how you survive," Solomon said. With a twist of his wrist, the boy's sword was redirected, leaving a shallow cut on his forearm. As the arcanist passed by, he kicked the boy's calf to remind him of his footwork.
The boy grunted. The cut didn't bother him—it wasn't pain that made him frown, but the frustration of never keeping up with his master's movements.
Bad habits from the hunt were being corrected, but it would take time.
"I need time!" the boy roared, swinging his sword so fast it became a blur. "It took me months to adjust to that planet's combat style!"
"Don't beg me for something that doesn't exist," Solomon said, sidestepping the strike. He struck the boy's wrist with the hilt of his sword. The sheer force knocked the weapon from his grip. The boy reached for it, but Solomon's blade was already at his throat.
"You don't have time," the arcanist said coldly, towering over him like a glacier. He tilted the blade and tapped the boy's neck with the flat. "Every battle is a surprise attack. You don't get prep time. You must always be ready—because our enemies never relax. You're a warrior I created. You have the ability. Pick up your weapon. Again."
The boy bared his teeth and rubbed his wrist.
The bruising faded almost instantly—one of the many benefits of surgery. He took a deep breath and, before his next heartbeat, leapt backward and drew his gun. He fired.
The bullets, just inches from Solomon, were knocked aside with swipes of the sword. The arcanist stepped forward, once again placing his blade at the boy's throat. Only then did the shell casings and deformed bullets clatter to the marble floor, ringing like bells.
"I think a normal person would be dead by now," the boy said, smiling. "One minute, my lord?"
"Not bad," Solomon nodded. "But our enemies aren't normal. If that's your current level, we could've fought several battles in that one minute."
------------------
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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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