Despite receiving extensive education, the Slavic girls still spoke English with heavily pronounced voiced consonants. Had they still been in school, such pronunciation errors would have earned them a lashing across the buttocks from the mistresses with a teaching rod until they cried aloud—though often they would cry preemptively to avoid the punishment. But this was not school; this was the cabin of an assault transport ship. They had already graduated. Here, the mistresses no longer bothered correcting their accents, because they were about to prove their learning with the weapons in their hands.
As the hatch closed, the cabin darkened, with only the glaring LED lights above illuminating their helmets and pauldrons. The girls chirped away via the squad-encrypted voice channel built into their helmets, occasionally glancing at the Yankee who had also boarded the assault transport.
No one ever chose to speak to him.
It wasn't due to regulations, but rather because the large American flag insignia on his uniform made it easy for the girls to identify him. Even when they stood shoulder to shoulder, none of them were willing to stand near him; all of their body language conveyed the same emotion. They had studied world history and politics. They fully understood why their homelands had become what they were, and why they had suffered. If the man now standing in the corner of the transport had made different choices, many tragedies might have been avoided. Yet they also knew such thoughts were unreasonable, so they expressed their disdain in the most restrained way possible.
Steve Rogers remained silent, aware of the girls' subtle gestures.
He made no reaction, simply standing there like a lifeless stone. He was deep in thought, wondering whether, had he failed to stop the Red Skull back then, he might have curtailed the arrogance that now spread across the nation at the cost of only a few lives—whether dying before the end of the war might have been the right outcome for everyone. The Korean War, the Vietnam War, the Panama Invasion, the Kuwait War, the Gulf War, the Afghanistan War, the Iraq War, the Arab Spring, the Egyptian Revolution—guided by his kind heart, he had saved a few people, only for even more innocents to lose their lives as a result. Just days ago, this cycle repeated itself. In a sense, he owed these girls a debt he could never repay. And where he was about to go would be the greatest irony of his past sacrifices—a piece of black humor that made optimism hard to maintain.
He even began to doubt Abraham Erskine's judgment.
Perhaps a good man was not suited for this cruel task. Perhaps a man who prioritized reason over emotion was the correct choice. Perhaps the Avengers' circus-like management—with masks and capes—needed to change. Perhaps he needed to consider the Avengers' future: were they vigilantes or government tools? Founders of justice, or enforcers of law? Was there still a need for the Avengers? Was their existence a disruption of order? He had many things to consider. On this battlefield, he needed to reflect on why the world he had once fought for had become what it was. He needed to think about whether these problems had any solution, whether the method that could resist the dark future foretold by prophetic magic was worth so many lives to pursue.
This was the final chance Kaecilius had given him—to stand with the future, or perish alongside the past.
"Why not invite Tony Stark? He's a billionaire, an inventor," Rogers said with self-deprecating sarcasm. "If you're choosing allies, Stark's value clearly outweighs that of an old man whose only skill is throwing a shield."
"I read your comics as a child, though that's not the main reason." Kaecilius shrugged. "Tony Stark cannot bring about change. More accurately, any change Tony Stark can make is built upon the current system. Without money, and without access to advanced global industry, there's very little he can accomplish. I don't know whether he would stand with us—after all, Tony Stark has never been someone who breaks the rules. He's too accustomed to feeding from the political and financial trough. You're different, Steve Rogers. You've seen war, and you've changed once already. I believe you have the capacity to adapt to the future. This world must change. Blood will be shed. Dissent will never cease. But you know that what we do is in the core interest of humanity—survival."
Rogers recalled the secretive global organizations Kaecilius had once told him about. Hydra was only one node in a broader network: international financial institutions, military-industrial complexes, royal families, Jewish financial dynasties, and so on. Kaecilius had bluntly told Rogers that Kamar-Taj had observed this secular world with a cold eye for many years. Few things in the world escaped their watch. Unless the entire global system underwent massive change, Hydra would never be eradicated. And the Avengers would never be able to touch the true power-holders. The fairness and justice Rogers yearned for would never arrive.
That was the real reason Solomon called the Avengers "a superhero game."
Kaecilius assured Rogers that Solomon's fingers were slowly tightening around the throats of those elite families, striking at the secular powers most likely to support him (those in the know would understand), as preparation for the complete eradication of religious power. Just as Hydra had infiltrated the aristocratic families and secret societies, Solomon was doing the same—and could now be considered one of them. Those banquets were not meaningless. Many companies were unknowingly working and researching for him, contributing massively to the City of Immortality. Victoria Hand's real mission was never just monster-slaying; assassination and bribery were the real business of the intelligence department.
The Malick family had served as Solomon's gateway into this world's elite circles. Both Gideon and Stephanie Malick had spared no effort in teaching him everything. But Solomon, forged by blood and iron, had always understood one thing: "Violence is the universal language of the galaxy."
Gideon Malick wholeheartedly agreed and ramped up the acquisition of military-industrial assets, providing massive financial support for the City of Immortality. He had come to fully grasp the truth of that saying: in the face of death, wealth and power are meaningless. He clearly understood that capital and law could never override royal authority—and divine authority didn't even exist. Especially not in the presence of an immortal, all-powerful tyrant. The only way to avoid a tragic fate while greatly elevating one's family was to become part of that royal authority. That was why he so fervently pushed Stephanie to bear Solomon's children. Once they became royalty, the Malick family would gain unprecedented power and a legacy stretching across millennia. It was the kind of dream that could make him laugh in his sleep.
And it wasn't a new strategy—the Aesir and Vanir gods had done the same.
Perhaps those books he once gifted had been a hint delivered right under Nick Fury's nose? Remembering Solomon's mysterious smile at the time, Steve Rogers suddenly felt a chill down his spine. He hadn't realized that Solomon had been laying the groundwork for world domination from such a young age. He didn't know what kind of education Solomon had received at Kamar-Taj to grow into such a calculating and deep-thinking youth.
The steel floor trembled faintly, the hum of turbine engines muffled by the heavy armor plating. The assault transport had taken off. The girls, as trained, secured themselves to the deck, then performed one last check of their gear. They were about to rescue children trapped in the same earthly hell from which they had once been saved. To them, the armored women who had descended with steel wings were angels. Now, their own steel wings were about to unfurl. They had trained their bodies, purified their souls, and were ready to become angels who would save others.
The girls prayed silently, fluently reciting the pre-battle litany, praying for the Monarch's gaze to fall upon them.
[We are the sword of the Monarch. We are the wrath of the Monarch. We know no fear.]
[We serve with our bodies. We repay with our blood.]
[Death is the Monarch's mercy upon enemies and heretics.]
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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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