Chapter 564

Generally speaking, the more successful a person became, the less willing they were to let some bizarre twist derail the life they had built.

Take a man like Wang Sicong, for example. If you walked up to him and said, "Brother, come reincarnate with me! I guarantee you’ll get an amazing father in your next life. Work hard for a few years, and you’ll have more money than you know what to do with, plus beautiful women everywhere!"

Why would he bother?

He already had everything.

That was why Evenson had come up with his plan for Doctor Strange.

First, destroy the man’s comfortable life. Strip away everything he valued. Once magic became his only path forward, the Sorcerer Supreme would have a much easier time recruiting him.

Unfortunately, there was one small problem.

The plan was utterly despicable.

The Sorcerer Supreme had nearly walked out on the spot after hearing it. For all her faults, she was still a hero. She had drawn upon the power of the Dark Dimension for the sake of the greater good, but she had always maintained her own principles. She had stood at the edge of the abyss without ever truly stepping into it.

And now this unlucky bastard wanted to shove her straight over the edge, then bury her under a few extra kicks for good measure.

Fortunately, Clea intervened before things went any further and managed to talk her back down.

"Seriously..." Evenson scratched his head, sounding thoroughly put upon. "I thought Doctor Strange was a tough guy, so I figured I’d use a little trickery to lure him up the mountain. Looks like the Sorcerer Supreme isn’t exactly thrilled with my idea."

"Not thrilled? You absolute idiot!"

Before the Sorcerer Supreme could say anything, Clea reached up and smacked Evenson squarely on the head.

"That plan of yours is vicious! You’d ruin his livelihood, and then you want to cripple him on top of that! Come up with something else!"

Evenson sighed.

"Right. Well, the hands are connected to the heart, as they say. Crushing all the bones in both of his hands would indeed be unnecessarily painful."

He paused.

Then his eyes shifted.

"Fine. How about this?"

Evenson turned toward the Sorcerer Supreme.

"You find some wizard to beat him half to death, then dump him on Doctor Strange’s operating table. Let Strange perform surgery. Once he’s in the middle of the operation, we make his soul leave his body."

The Sorcerer Supreme’s expression darkened.

Evenson continued without hesitation.

"Then we tell everyone it was a medical accident and that he died because Strange failed to save him. His reputation gets destroyed, and he has to pay compensation on top of that. Afterward, you go recruit him. It should work."

He considered it.

"Though I’d say the success rate is probably lower than the first plan."

"Isn’t that... insurance fraud?"

The Sorcerer Supreme’s eyebrows nearly knitted together.

"How are you so familiar with these kinds of schemes? And besides, if his soul merely leaves his body, his body isn’t actually dead. You can’t pin that on him."

"Then let him die."

Evenson’s tone grew irritated, as though they were making a mountain out of a perfectly simple problem.

"As long as I prepare everything beforehand, he won’t stay dead for long. I’ll bring him back. Don’t worry. I’m quite familiar with Mephisto. There won’t be any accidents this time. Besides, he doesn’t want Hell’s population increasing right now either."

The Sorcerer Supreme stared at him.

"Wait... can’t my disciple go to Heaven?"

She felt like her thoughts were beginning to tangle.

She would set aside the question of exactly how Evenson had become so familiar with Mephisto. What she really couldn’t understand was why he was so confident that her disciple would go to Hell after dying.

"If he goes to Heaven, I’ll drag him back down."

Evenson thumped his chest with absolute confidence.

"As long as I’m there, I’ll just use Soul Drain when the time comes. His soul won’t be going anywhere."

The Sorcerer Supreme fell silent.

After a moment, she shook her head.

"Do you seriously not have a normal solution?"

She gave him a suspicious look.

"Or is this how your organization recruits people?"

"I don’t know how they recruited people in the past."

Evenson suddenly pointed at himself.

"But why do you think I’m an orphan?"

The Sorcerer Supreme and Clea both looked at him.

"You should be able to tell that I’m a remarkably pure-blooded German. Yet my pure-blooded parents abandoned me at an orphanage. Then, when I turned fourteen, I suddenly awakened my memories, gained magical knowledge and inherited power, and discovered that I was caught in the middle of a secret war."

He spread his hands.

"Why do you think that happened?"

The Sorcerer Supreme and Clea exchanged a glance.

"Could it be...?"

Surely not.

Perhaps when Evenson was young, his master had discovered his magical talent. But his family environment made it unlikely that he would ever walk the path of magic, much less inherit the organization’s legacy.

So perhaps his master had simply taken Evenson away and left him at an orphanage.

Or perhaps they had gone even further...

Perhaps his parents had been killed.

"Who knows what actually happened?"

Evenson’s expression became unexpectedly melancholy.

"But we are in the middle of a war. And with darkness rising, that war is only going to become more brutal. If we want to win in the end, there will be times when we have to do whatever it takes."

He looked directly at the Sorcerer Supreme.

"You should understand that better than anyone."

"I have done things I am not proud of."

The Sorcerer Supreme took a slow breath.

"But I sacrificed myself. I never forced someone else to make that sacrifice."

"Then let’s leave it there."

Evenson suddenly had no desire to continue the argument.

Different paths led to different destinations. There was no point forcing someone to walk a road they refused to take.

He had offered his suggestions. Whether the Sorcerer Supreme chose to use them was her decision.

"There is one thing I have to warn you about, though."

Evenson’s expression grew serious.

"In this war, the choice isn’t always ours to make. Sometimes events move far enough that they leave you with no good options. Eventually, reality itself can force you to choose."

"I will hold to my principles."

The Sorcerer Supreme’s voice was firm.

"To the very end."

A portal opened beside her.

She stepped through, and the moment she left, the distorted scene outside vanished. The streets returned to normal, as though nothing unusual had ever happened.

Two blocks away, in a brownstone, Sherlock Holmes sat on his sofa reading the newspaper.

After the rather exciting adventure he’d recently survived, Holmes had taken leave from the police department. He had spent most of his time at home recovering and had barely gone outside.

Then, without warning, his eyes stopped moving.

His nose twitched.

Something smelled burned.

Holmes lowered the newspaper.

The paper in his hands had somehow caught fire.

He did not panic.

Apparently, he’d been expecting something like this.

He calmly tossed the burning newspaper onto the floor, reached beside the sofa, grabbed a fire extinguisher, and put out the flames.

Then he looked at his right hand.

An orange glow flickered across his skin.

"Watson!" Holmes called. "How are things on your end?"

"Same as yours."

Watson emerged from the kitchen.

"My noodles are ruined."

She was holding a plastic bowl. Half of it had melted, leaving liquefied plastic mixed with the noodles inside.

Holmes glanced at it.

"Right on schedule. Exactly as we agreed."

He rose from the sofa.

"Then we’d better get going."

Holmes pulled a business card from inside his coat.

At that exact moment, golden light flashed across his hand.

The card crumbled into ash.

He stared at the remains for a moment.

"No matter. I memorized the address."

The two of them put on their coats and left the brownstone.

Once outside, Holmes gave a sharp whistle and flagged down a taxi.

They eventually arrived in front of a company building.

A massive sign hung from the top floor.

One word was written across it:

Gospel.

They entered the building.

A woman who looked to be in her thirties approached them. She had the unmistakable appearance of a Gypsy woman.

"Mr. Holmes, Ms. Watson. I’m the lobby manager. You may call me Nadia."

She gave them a polite smile.

"I have your appointment here, so please wait a moment. The executive secretary will be down shortly to receive you."

"I’ve arrived."

A dark-haired Russian woman approached them.

"I’m Voskaya. Please, follow me."

She had only taken a few steps with Holmes and Watson when she suddenly seemed to remember something.

Voskaya turned around.

"Nadia, the boss asked me to remind you that it’s time for your medical examination. Don’t forget."