Chapter 304

Self-sacrifice had never been the creed by which Tony Stark, this Playboy, lived. He put on the Iron Armor and fought terrorists partly to atone for what he had done in the past, but even more than that, he wanted to be in the spotlight and bask in others’ admiring gazes.

He had once bluntly mocked Captain America’s spirit of sacrifice and complained that Coulson should not have tried to stop Loki alone.

So when it came to the term superhero, he had only achieved the "super" part. He had yet to become a hero.

Yet when he learned that a tactical Nuclear Bomb was flying toward New York, and that millions of innocent civilians would be reduced to ashes in the nuclear blast, he did not hesitate at all before deciding to drag the warhead through the portal.

With the Iron Armor’s tremendous speed, he could have escaped and stayed out of it. He understood that this choice might mean he would never return, but he did it anyway. Perhaps only then could he truly understand the words Captain America had once said—the words he had mocked: Sometimes, we can’t help ourselves.

"Sir, shall I connect Miss Pepper’s call?" At that moment, the artificial intelligence Jarvis had also foreseen the possible consequences of Tony’s actions. He politely reminded his master that perhaps he should say goodbye to his lover before leaving.

"Put her through," Tony said.

Unfortunately, Miss Pepper was anxiously watching the live broadcast aboard a private jet and did not notice the phone beside her vibrating madly.

In the end, Tony carried the Nuclear Bomb through the portal. The bomb struck a Chitauri mothership and exploded, while Tony’s armor ran out of power.

Tony stared blankly at everything he had done. He felt there were still many things he wanted to do, yet he also felt he had no regrets. No… his only regret was that the call had not gone through, and he had not been able to hear her voice before he died.

And so, Tony slowly closed his eyes and calmly waited for death to arrive. "Huh? Hmm?"

Tony had only just closed his eyes when he suddenly snapped them open with a twitchy motion, looking as though he had seen a ghost. Then he squeezed them shut and opened them again. After repeating this several times, he finally believed that what he had seen was not an illusion.

The instant he closed his eyes, a line of text had suddenly appeared before him, as if projected directly onto his retina. It read: Your teammate Evenson has summoned you.

Below it were two reddish-brown options: Accept (paid service this time), Decline (free).

What was money compared to his life? Tony chose Accept without hesitation, and then the world spun around him. When he regained consciousness, he found himself standing stiffly in New York, with an obnoxious voice ringing in his ears. "See? I told you it would work. Sorcerers are professionals when it comes to pulling people over." Then a wave of weakness hit him, and he fell flat on his back with his limbs spread wide.

That was right. Evenson had used the signature technique of his spellcraft, the summoning ritual—commonly known as opening a door to pull someone through—to save Tony.

But after Tony was pulled back, whether due to the will of the greater universe or some sort of law of causality, a thought flashed through everyone’s minds: Now that you’ve pulled him back, shouldn’t you get lost?

But it lasted only an instant before everyone shoved the thought aside and gathered around Tony Stark, who was lying on the ground.

Fortunately, Tony was in fairly good condition. He removed his helmet himself, then accepted Captain America’s support as he stood up. "I’m just… a little dizzy."

"That’s normal. It’ll pass after a while," Evenson said with a shrug. The summoning ritual counted as trans-dimensional teleportation, so ordinary people would always suffer some side effects. Besides, Sorcerer magic had never been known for comfort.

Gradually, those scattered elsewhere gathered as well: Hawkeye, Natasha, Dottie, and Hulk.

Seeing that everyone was present, Tony immediately displayed his rich-man instincts. "Come on, everyone. Let’s go eat out. My treat."

"I think we should find someone some clothes first," Evenson said strangely. Hulk had already begun to revert, turning back into Bruce Banner.

And as for Dr. Banner… aside from those bulletproof, adjustable stretch briefs, he was practically naked.

"It’s finally over." The Sorcerers of the New York Sanctum watched as the enormous portal in the sky finally closed, while the remaining alien troops on the ground collapsed like puppets whose power had been cut. They all breathed heavy sighs of relief. To hell with looking transcendent and otherworldly; to hell with acting like lofty hermits. They simply lay down on the ground and decided to rest first.

But when they thought about everything that had happened today—fighting with all their strength in secret to stop an alien invasion, then retreating into the shadows after their success—a lofty sense of mission welled up inside them, nearly sending them into a frenzy.

Olivann, however, did not lie down with the others. He walked over to Ancient One. "It’s all over now, Sorcerer Supreme."

"Yes, it’s all over," Ancient One said wistfully. She had lived for a long time and witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations. At the same time, she had witnessed humanity’s ever-increasing talent for courting death.

Only sixty-odd years had passed since the world war, and humanity was already unable to sit still, ready to start an interstellar war. Not only did she bear the responsibility of fighting outer demons, she also had to clean up humanity’s messes whenever they courted disaster. Sometimes, she truly felt exhausted.

"Your Excellency the Sorcerer Supreme, about that dark Sorcerer…" Olivann trailed off, but his meaning was perfectly clear. When were she, in her esteemed wisdom, going to deal with that monster? Otherwise, he was trembling in his boots!

After witnessing Evenson’s earth-shaking, ghost-weeping Hand of Death, none of the Sorcerers here could avoid trembling in their boots. They had once naively thought of finding that dark Sorcerer and judging him. Now, however, the situation had completely reversed. They were afraid that the dark Sorcerer would come knocking on their door.

Ancient One sighed and glanced at Olivann, feeling even more exhausted. "I’ll rest for a few days, then I’ll personally go speak with him."

At last, the weight in Olivann’s heart was lifted. He still had complete faith in the Sorcerer Supreme.

"Haha… it’s finally over." Those two groups were not the only ones celebrating victory. On a highway outside New York, three enclosed trucks were moving along. In the passenger seat of the first truck, General Ross excitedly opened a beer and took a swig.

This time, he had made the right bet. That performance he had put on in the city would become important capital for his future political career! With that, he would surely have an advantage unmatched by anyone else in future elections. Thinking of this, he took another gulp of beer.

"Still… why did you haul away so many Chitauri corpses?" After finishing the can, Ross asked the nun driving the truck.

That nun was Veronica. "Experimental materials."

Ross tilted his head, thinking it was perfectly normal for a biochemical company to be interested in alien corpses. But after studying Veronica for a moment, he asked doubtfully, "What’s your name? You look strangely familiar."

Veronica rolled her eyes. No matter how she heard it, that sounded like some creepy old man hitting on a young girl. Still, she gave the false name prepared specifically for this operation. "Brazilian mercenaries. Leona Hayden. I led this operation."

"Brazilian mercenaries? No…" Ross thought hard for a while, then suddenly shouted as if enlightenment had struck him. "I remember now! Aren’t you that nightclub dancer?!"

"W-what nightclub dancer? That’s false reporting. I’m an elite mercenary." Veronica hurriedly turned her head away and tugged down her nun’s hood, trying to hide her face.

Ross stiffly turned his head away and opened another beer, this time to calm his nerves. Since the leader was a dancer, there was no need to ask about the identities of the other mercenaries. Thinking about what sort of people he had entrusted his life and safety to in New York, he felt utterly terrible.

That was all for today. More updates tomorrow.