The Wakandan scientists who had joined the Eternal City wore many hats—as researchers and as eyes for the royal family. Solomon had never called them out, instead waiting for the right moment to exploit this leverage to the fullest. He also knew that the one who orchestrated this arrangement was neither Shuri nor T'Challa—Shuri was too naive, and T'Challa too righteous. This wasn't their doing. The only one capable of making such a decision was the current king, T'Chaka.
Solomon knew that if he were in T'Chaka's position, he would have made the same choice—rather than blindly trusting a cryptic "prophecy." That's why he had never held any resentment toward T'Chaka. In fact, he considered him a competent ruler.
Of course, that didn't stop him from revoking the Black Panther god's blessing and condemning him to a slow death.
Ordering his spies to gather evidence wasn't to find an excuse to wage war against Wakanda, but to build up enough leverage to make future dealings easier. T'Chaka would eventually step down, and when that happened, Solomon could hand the evidence over to the next king—T'Challa, a fellow Oxford physics alumnus—who would inevitably offer some form of compensation. It was all just politics. Ruthlessness had become second nature to Solomon. Personally, he had no grievance with any Wakandan, not even the royal informants.
He issued fewer and fewer orders concerning the internal affairs of the Eternal City, instead focusing on military development. Most administrative responsibilities were delegated to capable individuals. Only when something required his direct correction would he intervene.
The Eternal City was Solomon's prototype for government design. He demanded it be capable of independent operation, sustained vitality, and a degree of self-purification.
When populations and borders expanded, even the smallest errors—magnified—could become systemic vulnerabilities. He understood the Malik family came from a bureaucratic lineage, and given the secrecy required by the Eternal City, bureaucratization was nearly inevitable. Even so, he instructed Stephanie to minimize redundant procedures and avoid falling into the traps of conventional bureaucracy.
He and Stephanie often discussed political systems. With her high social standing and broad perspective, Stephanie's insights were far beyond those of ordinary people. Lately, Gideon Malik had involved her in various affairs, allowing Solomon to learn many new things from their conversations.
These revelations often made Solomon reassess just how corrupt the end-stage capitalist class really was.
Heirs of political and industrial dynasties wasted their lives chasing thrills, trying to find novelty in lives already perched at the top. Their indulgences were so extreme that Solomon initially suspected extra-dimensional corruption. It was only after thorough investigation that those suspicions were ruled out. Not because corruption didn't exist, but because Kamar-Taj's response teams were terrifyingly efficient. Anyone showing the first signs of contamination would be eliminated before it became a problem. Most mystics didn't engage in Solomon's kind of high-intensity extermination; they focused on minor cleansings. That's why most incident reports were quietly filed away as "accidents."
Solomon lay reclined on a bench, eyes half-closed.
The scandals Stephanie had shown him—things that would never appear in any news broadcast—were outright offensive. He felt genuinely mentally scarred. Some of the intel came from the Malik family's leverage over their political proxies; others were open secrets within the elite circles. If not for the Malik family's strict internal discipline, and Gideon's genuine protectiveness over his daughter, Stephanie might've ended up featured in some of those files herself.
It deeply convinced Solomon that if humanity continued to be led by people like that, it was doomed. Even feudalism seemed more advanced than capitalism. After reading the works of a few historical revolutionaries, he decided to blame it all on the cowardice of the bourgeoisie.
"Start by eliminating anyone asking for democratic elections. If we let those morons decide how our organization is run, we'll be back in the Stone Age by nightfall, eating rocks for dinner and wiping our asses with sticks."
"Well said, Lord Black Knight," Stephanie couldn't help but laugh. She handed Solomon a cup of hot tea, and playfully pitched her voice higher. "I watched that show when I was little—it really was ridiculous. Even now, it rings true. A herd of swine obsessed with votes and money, so easily manipulated. Even if some won't cooperate, there'll always be others who will. Politics and business are just two faces of the same coin—leave through one door, re-enter through the other. Knowledge is used to deceive the masses, news to manipulate elections, and addictive substances to erode the lower class's will to resist. That's Hydra. Hydra is capitalism itself. Every beneficiary of the system is Hydra. The Avengers have no idea what kind of enemy they're really fighting. Hydra will always exist—it can't be killed, unless..."
"Unless supreme monarchy eradicates these sewer rats in silk," Solomon said, watching her face closely. "Unless they're like the Malik family—useful to the cause."
"You're a pragmatist, and only a pragmatist can think long-term," the secretary immediately caught on and praised accordingly. "Once your plan succeeds, no one on Earth will be able to resist a vast interstellar fleet. You'll lead humanity to conquer the galaxy. You will succeed."
Solomon sat up, his expression blank. The previously pleasant exchange vanished like a soap bubble glinting in the sunlight. Under his suddenly sharp gaze, Stephanie involuntarily felt a chill up her spine.
"This isn't ambition, Stephanie. It's a desperate counterattack." He sighed with very human weariness, softening the atmosphere. "Stephanie, you are my secretary—not a court jester. If I wanted flattery, I'd go find a jester myself. That way, I'd know who the real clown is. But you were right about one thing—I am a pragmatist. And pragmatists don't care for praise. As the Minister of Internal Affairs, you should improve your awareness of confidentiality. I think Victoria Hand needs to draft a new tiered security policy for all levels of management. What do you think?"
Stephanie nodded silently, understanding the implied warning. Solomon didn't want the Malik family becoming too deeply embedded in the Eternal City. He was subtly advising her not to parrot Gideon Malik's words. Though he didn't think it was necessarily Gideon's idea, Stephanie had spent enough time in that environment to pick up certain habits—and those habits were of no use here.
"I think something better than praise," the Arcanist said with a smirk, "is your swimsuit tan lines."
Stephanie finally relaxed. She knew Solomon was teasing her about that time last winter when she flew to Australia for a sunbath. She had deliberately chosen a particularly daring swimsuit just to show off the tan lines upon her return. It had worked very well. She blinked playfully and replied in code, "I actually went again recently—wore a new one this time."
"I'd be very interested to see it."
(End of Chapter)
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