The Nature of Weakness

Anna did not let Salomon’s nonsense distract her. Unlike her brother, she did not care nearly as much about her mentally ill mother.

"What is that?" she asked, looking at the twisted lump of flesh by the Arcanist’s feet. Before this, the overpowering smell of Sulfur had concealed the scorched stench. Once the smoke gradually cleared, Anna caught the foul odor, and its source was the unidentified object at Salomon’s feet.

"Some summoned creature. Other than this limb, nothing remains of it." Ignoring the disgusting sensation of the pulp-like flesh, Salomon bent down and picked up the severed limb with his uninjured left hand. Hooking a finger through the limb’s bones, the Arcanist held it up before Anna, making her lean back instinctively. "It summoned this specifically to buy itself time to escape. This thing was not powerful, but it could draw more devils into the Material Plane, so I had to get rid of it."

"So that devil left?" Anna turned to glance at her brother, the doctor, and the sister gathered around her mother. "Will it come back?"

"It will." The Arcanist carried the corpse as if it were a handbag. Black blood and shredded flesh smelling of Sulfur slowly dripped from it, so he deliberately held the limb farther away to avoid staining his clothes and shoes. "The negotiations failed, so this was the only option. Your mother… I do not know whether she can regain consciousness. That is not my responsibility."

"That is enough." Anna did not press for more. She knew it had not been easy for Salomon to drive away that devil, and besides, her memories of this mother were far from pleasant. "It seems you have many secrets." She poked the Arcanist in the chest with a fingertip. "Shouldn’t you tell me about them?"

"There are many things I do not understand either. Oh, Mr. Helstrom, you look rather angry."

"My mother, she… You never told me what might happen to my mother!"

"Actually, I already warned Ms. Helstrom. But never mind, I can repeat it for you." Salomon dodged Damon’s hands as he tried to grab his collar. "It seems you need a different kind of warning."

"I did not ask you here to turn my mother into an idiot!"

"She already was one. Those possessed by devils rarely retain their own souls. I do not believe your mother was an exception… All right, it seems you cannot hear me. Oh? Instead of running away, you are actually coming toward me?"

"How else am I supposed to—"

The Arcanist raised a leg and viciously kicked Damon in the stomach as he lunged forward.

He kicked hard, without the slightest concern for the fact that Damon’s body was still about as strong as an ordinary human’s. Damon had barely pounced before he was sent crashing backward. The sister and doctor hurriedly caught him as he kept retching, while Anna merely watched coldly. No one knew what she was thinking.

"This is why I hate helping people. Someone always thinks you should do everything perfectly. But that is impossible. No one can do that, or people would not pray." Enduring the pain of the burn on his right hand, the Arcanist carefully pinched two sheets of parchment from his Dimensional Bag. "Dr. Hastings and Sister Gabriel Rossetti, sign this contract. As ordinary people involved in magical affairs, you must sign it. Especially you, Sister Gabriel Rossetti. I also have a transfer order from the Vatican. You can return to Rome."

"Why?" The sister was thoroughly shocked. She had only been transferred to Ohio not long ago; the Roman Church could not possibly summon her back so quickly—she was not the sort of nun from a bygone age. She had received highly professional training and education, held a degree from secular society, and might one day oversee a convent and a church orphanage, or manage a church charity like Dr. Hastings.

"Because the Roman Church knows what it should touch and what it should not. I have to say, if you keep inserting yourself into this matter, you will die as quickly as some idiotic girl in a horror movie. Go back to Rome and receive more education. At the very least, you should learn the Roman Church’s methods of embezzlement. Those are quite worth learning." The Arcanist gestured for Anna to hand him the contracts. "Sign them, and your task will be complete. What comes next is my business. Anna, you and Damon do not need to sign. You are not ordinary humans."

"What are you going to do?" Anna asked.

"Track it down," Salomon said. "No matter what kind of relationship it once had with me, it cannot be allowed to cause trouble on the Material Plane. This is my responsibility—but since I have classes to attend, I will leave this matter to other Arcanists. Dr. Hastings, Sister Rossetti, sign quickly. I am in a hurry."

"Hiss—" Salomon cast spell after spell. Every time a Positive Energy spell touched the burn marks on his right hand, the pain made the Arcanist tremble uncontrollably. Marduk’s Dark Magic was exceptionally difficult to heal. The Hellfire and Negative Energy clinging to the wound were extremely difficult to remove, but as long as Salomon cast enough spells, he should be able to solve the problem.

Before this, Anna, who had left St. Teresa’s Psychiatric Hospital with Salomon, had noticed that he kept his right hand behind his back. Once they got into the car, she leaned over toward the passenger seat and grabbed Salomon’s right hand. She looked rather clumsy as she tried to bandage the burn scientifically, but the Arcanist stopped her in time when she attempted to pour alcohol onto the wound—a life-threatening act not because of the pain of disinfection, but because the sparks on the wound were still glowing! Salomon had no desire to end his life in a car fire.

"Is this over?" After Salomon used two fingers to pull out his phone and reject a call, Anna stared at him with intense curiosity. "Do you still want to kill that devil? I heard about its relationship with you."

"Of course." The Arcanist answered without hesitation. He shifted his position so that the leather passenger seat roughly matched the shape of his spine. "We are enemies until death." The fingers of his left hand lightly brushed over the wound, and the burn shrank a little more. "I am an Arcanist. When I see devils, I have to kill them. The same goes for Werewolves and Vampires. It is my duty, the work mandated by my contract. If you do not mind, please wait a moment while I heal this wound. Otherwise, the pain will keep me from casting spells."

Nick Fury smashed another phone. Salomon never answered his calls. Did he think that if he ignored them, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., the King of Agents, would not recognize that person riding a broomstick as him? Who else in this world rode a broomstick? Nick Fury had gone to great lengths to obtain a sum of "nonexistent" money, even saving himself the trouble of laundering it, yet Salomon had gotten there first.

Before this, he had generously shown the documents to the Arcanist because he believed Salomon had no interest in worldly currency. He had gone to Salomon’s school, but the staff said Salomon had taken leave. Nick Fury did not think the Arcanist was avoiding him. He merely wanted to know what Salomon intended to do with the money—what he feared most was Salomon building his own secular power to oppose S.H.I.E.L.D., or using it to do something terrible.

For example, organizing gangs in the streets and alleys, using portals to smuggle drugs in from abroad and sell them. Compared with the things Salomon might do, the whereabouts of that money were no longer so important.

Thus, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s surveillance network sprang into action again, and Agent Maria Hill sent the Arcanist’s location to Nick Fury. "We are taking a business trip," the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. said to Agent Hill as he put on the black trench coat he had worn for ages. "Prepare the Quinjet. We are making a routine visit."

"Agent Coulson could handle this," Agent Hill said. "He has just assembled his team. Why not let them make contact with a relatively friendly target?"

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