Anyone with a basic understanding of Kamar-Taj knows it is a group of warriors constantly at war—a society where the logic of peace simply doesn't apply. But if one looks deeper, it becomes clear that this mindset is not without cause, nor is it some lingering PTSD from years of combat. Even in the most peaceful of times, Solomon personally witnessed arcanists perish—many of them unknown, dying in battlefields beyond this dimension. Those who experienced such brutal sacrifices found it difficult to adopt the pacifist mindset of ordinary people—especially someone like Solomon, a direct disciple of the Sorcerer Supreme and inheritor of true tradition. To the arcanists of Kamar-Taj, the flames of war never truly went out. On the contrary, they burned brighter with each passing year. Kaecilius was the standard-bearer of this militant mindset, and Solomon had absorbed more than a little of his philosophy. Among the younger generation of arcanists, only Mordo and a few others remained focused on mentoring new recruits. The rest thrived on combat.
The Ancient One had never commented on this. After all, Kamar-Taj was always meant to be a war machine.
Wanda didn't like war. It had brought endless pain to her and her family. But when confronted with Solomon's vision of prophecy, she had no choice but to join this war herself. Still, she intended to minimize civilian casualties as much as possible. "Isn't it our job as spellcasters to face these monsters?" she asked, frowning. The sea breeze blowing through the duct-taped seams of the car was robbing her of warmth. "Shouldn't the professionals handle the professional threats? Wasn't that always your philosophy?"
"No. My philosophy has always been 'humanity can solve all problems'—including extradimensional threats." Solomon placed his hand on Wanda's shoulder and softly chanted an incantation. She instantly felt like she'd been submerged in warm water, enveloped in a comforting heat that rose from her toes to her scalp, like soaking in a bath. "Kamar-Taj was created only because humanity was unable to deal with threats from other dimensions. At the dawn of our species, the first Sorcerer Supreme taught humans advanced arcana to repel demon invasions. That knowledge was passed down until the Ancient One raised her holy sword in the British Isles, driving back outer-dimensional invaders, expelling the Earthborn gods, and cementing humanity's dominion over the Material Plane." He slammed the steering wheel, the blaring horn scattering the wild animals that had emerged from the woods. "If the day ever comes when humanity can destroy outer gods with technology—if unmatched weapons can eradicate these threats—then Kamar-Taj will vanish from history, and power will be returned to ordinary people. You, me, all spellcasters will disappear. That is my philosophy. That is why the Immortal City was built. So from this point forward, I will begin training ordinary people to confront magical horrors. We can't carry humanity forever. Infants grow up eventually—they must learn to walk on their own."
Wanda fell silent.
As much as she hated to admit it, Solomon had convinced her.
Their beat-up Jeep rolled onward. Wanda, bundled in a blanket, dozed off in the passenger seat. After an unknown amount of time, Solomon gently woke her. He had exited Highway 295 and followed Gilman Road, passing a Protestant Episcopal church—St. Bartholomew's Episcopal Church—before arriving at Yarmouth's Larrabee's Landing Park. This was the river mouth of the Royal River. According to the vampire's memories, it had been the last gathering place for James Boone and his vampiric progeny. After repeatedly verifying the confession with spells, Solomon had burned the vampire at the stake. He and Wanda circled the area in their car but found only traces of blood magic—no other vampires. The arcanist didn't believe the vampire had lied. Under the dual torture of physical and psychic torment, few could resist the desire for death.
"Let's check out the church," Wanda suggested. "We saw one in Jerusalem Town too. Maybe the vampires are repeating the same trick—recruiting civilians as food and sacrificial offerings."
Protestant churches generally lacked the grandeur of Catholic cathedrals. Apart from Westminster Abbey, Solomon could hardly name a single Protestant church more ornate than those of the Roman Church. This particular church, established by immigrants and named after one of the Twelve Apostles, highlighted the chaotic leadership structure of Protestantism. Accepting Wanda's suggestion, Solomon turned the car around and headed back toward the simple chapel—a white-painted building resembling a barn, lacking even a bell tower. One side housed the hall for congregational prayer and hymn singing, as well as a modest preaching room. The other contained living quarters for clergy.
The sound of the Jeep's engine drew the attention of the resident priest.
The weather was miserable, and few people were expected at the church. There was no community potluck today either, making the priest all the more curious. When he stepped outside and peered through the thin curtain of rain, he saw a beat-up Jeep—its door held on with duct tape, the body covered in dents—bumbling in off Gilman Road. It circled the flower bed in front of the church and came to a stop right in front of him. Two strikingly attractive individuals stepped out into the rain. The taped-up door, as expected, promptly fell off with a loud clang. The priest flinched. The red-haired woman smiled sheepishly and stuck out her tongue, hopping down behind the tall man.
"Children, what brings you here?" the priest asked, tilting his head to look at the man. Through the rain, he saw eyes that gleamed like obsidian and long black hair carelessly tied back. The man's face was as flawless as a marble statue of a Greek god. As he drew closer, the priest suddenly felt the urge to brace himself against something—the man radiated a warmth and sacredness that nearly took his breath away. Deep within, an uncontrollable impulse welled up, urging him to kiss the man's hand.
"We have some questions, Father," the man said with a soft smile.
"You're welcome, but don't stand out here in the rain. Come in. I've got some coffee brewing. And if you're hungry, there's some leftover lasagna," the middle-aged priest muttered, trying to distract himself. "Mrs. Yaha had her son bring it over this morning. He just got out of prison, and she's hoping I can help him find work. Swears he's clean now—off the drugs... I haven't been in this parish long, but I believe I can make a difference."
"Thank you, Father. Just the coffee will do—extra sugar, please. My apprentice needs to warm up. We've already eaten," Solomon said, gently taking the priest's arm and motioning for Wanda to follow. "How long have you been serving this parish?"
"Just a few months. Since April, actually. Father John was getting old, his legs were bad... one day he got into an accident. Local police informed headquarters, and they sent me. You can find the story in the local paper. But the townsfolk keep saying it wasn't a car crash—too much carnage. You two aren't from around here, are you?"
"Not at all. We're here on a case, Father," Solomon said, giving Wanda a glance. She took the hint and produced their credentials. "Maybe Father John knew something we need to find out."
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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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