Compared to Frank Castle's combat prowess, what Solomon truly valued was his character.
Yet he also knew he wasn't someone a retired soldier would naturally trust or even like. If they continued to meet face-to-face, it would inevitably lead to violent confrontation—and the only possible victor would be Solomon himself. He didn't want to kill the person he was trying to recruit. Since Victoria Hand had agreed to take over the troublesome task, Solomon was happy to let her handle it. He preferred to spend his time fantasizing about bronze-skinned Latina beauties in swimsuits—though he knew full well that was impossible. Still, no one could stop him from fantasizing. It helped him ignore the actual nuisance ahead: calming the girl who'd grown up in the mountains of Siberia.
Sophia responded to challenges in the most primal way. She was deeply frustrated over the failure to bring Frank Castle under control and was actively seeking any opportunity to punch that veteran in the face. Solomon had no choice but to intensify her and her tribe's training regimen, lest she waste her energy chasing vengeance. Unlike surgical-strike special forces teams, these people would serve as the Immortal City's first formal army, testing various tactical doctrines through use of advanced mechanized units. The first batch of tanks, IFVs, aircraft, and heavy combat equipment from the Martian Forge were made for them. After full training, Sophia would even have authorization to deploy tactical nuclear weapons. The resources consumed for her unit rivaled those required to produce a single Royal Guard power armor suit.
This was Solomon's compensation for Jacob's thousand-year vigil. He had to ensure Jacob's bloodline prospered for generations to come, safe and secure. But that didn't mean Sophia would be granted easy treatment. She had to prove herself worthy of the power and wealth at her disposal. When she stormed into the administrative office, upset at being excluded from the Castle mission, Solomon could only respond with patience, speaking from the role of a stern elder.
"This was a recruitment mission, not a personal vendetta. I can give you gems, yachts, sports cars, palaces—because I owe your father a debt I can never repay. But I'll never allow you to become a shallow, vain parvenu drowning in your own ego."
Even though Sophia was older than Solomon, in the office of internal affairs, it was the magus who exuded the greater calm. She couldn't afford to become one of those vulgar nouveau riche, throwing wealth around without taste. Artistic sensibility and etiquette were crucial for Sophia's education. Solomon spoke this truth righteously—though one might have questioned his authority, considering his own yacht came with a helipad. But he truly didn't care for yachts. After all, he had multiple aircraft carriers and even starships. If it weren't for the witches' love for extravagance, he wouldn't have bothered with such a vessel at all.
Still, pursuing yachts now felt juvenile—beneath him, even. He couldn't betray the years of guidance from Athena by diving into the shallow end of nouveau riche culture. To curb this tendency (and avoid Athena's scolding), his next plan was to retrofit the yacht with anti-gravity engines—turning it from a floating palace into a flying one, suitable for parties thrown by the witches or Athena herself.
Between a palace yacht and a full fleet of armed carriers, Solomon clearly preferred the latter. He'd originally planned to invite Vanessa for some time aboard the yacht, but things had changed too fast. Vanessa had chosen her own path, cutting ties with them completely. Even if Wilson Fisk had earned the right to strike a deal with Solomon, it couldn't undo that rift. As for that deal, Fisk saw it as the most valuable outcome of the gala—though only he and Solomon knew the true terms.
Fisk promised to abstain from human trafficking. While he couldn't stop other gangs from engaging in it, he would report their actions to Solomon, who would then forward them to the Sisterhood for "processing." This wasn't part of the main deal—it was a goodwill gesture. The second term of their agreement involved "Black Void"—Solomon wasn't foolish enough to gamble everything on Matt Murdock. Whether it was handing Fisk's criminal dossier to Karen Page, or negotiating directly with Fisk to uncover the Hand's secrets and the dragon bones' purpose, it was all about hedging risks. Between Murdock and Fisk, only Solomon would emerge victorious. It didn't matter who lost—the outcome was his gain.
"What does any of this have to do with my mission?" Sophia asked. "I don't care about gems and yachts."
"What you want is warships, Sophia. And those are much more expensive." Solomon tapped the parchment with a ruby-tipped steel pen made from Martian ore. "I won't indulge your every whim. That would be irresponsible. If I did that, I'd be betraying Jacob's wishes. Let Victoria's agents handle Castle. You must focus on training and learning. You must rise above the common rabble in vision and wisdom. That is the world's only true wealth."
"You're not my elder, Solomon. Don't lecture me like one."
"But I am your commanding officer. Jacob entrusted your people to me. I'll use that power to achieve our vision." Solomon looked up, his face expressionless. "Jacob's thousand-year sacrifice was not enough. We need more. If you and your people succeed, that burden can be lightened. You will be the model for our first standing army. The best among you will be commissioned as officers. Your job is to lead them to victory on future battlefields."
"Don't you think it's unfair?" Sophia snapped. "My father sacrificed everything, and now you're sitting here in wealth and power while he's gone."
"I'm glad you think so. It means you value what your father gave." For once, Solomon smiled. He set the pen aside and gestured for her to sit. "Those thousand years tormented Jacob. But compared to him, my watch is even longer." He said quietly, "I'm not unwilling to sacrifice. I was raised with the idea of giving one's life for humanity—and I accepted it gladly. I'm here because the moment of my sacrifice hasn't come yet. I've seen a glimpse of that future. I must prepare for it. Before that day comes, everything must be in place."
Sophia's curiosity showed in her swaying crimson braid. She clearly wanted an excuse to ask more. "An idealist," she scoffed. "But our tribe came to Siberia because of ideals. So I don't see anything wrong with my father's dream. I just want to know—what makes you so sure you'll succeed? A prophecy?"
"In part. The rest is high-dimensional strategy." The magus squinted slightly, amused. "The only question now is… who's actually playing whom?"
(End of Chapter)
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