Chapter 810

When a man had been reduced to poverty, backed into a corner, and then beaten and robbed by a gang of thugs, there wasn’t much farther down he could go.

Stephen Strange had learned exactly what desperation felt like.

Then Mordo had dropped out of nowhere to save him.

Well... close enough.

Strange had also learned what it felt like to go from absolute despair to a sudden, desperate sliver of hope. Small wonder he was already developing a rather favorable impression of Kamar-Taj.

More importantly, Evenson had systematically burned away every other option Strange had left.

There was nowhere else for him to go.

So, whether he liked it or not, he was walking down this road to the end.

Under Mordo’s guidance, Strange traveled on foot toward Kamar-Taj. As they drew close, he spotted several ascetics sitting cross-legged on cushions, prayer beads in hand and their bodies coated in white ash.

Strange instinctively started veering toward them.

Mordo, however, calmly led him in the opposite direction.

"Are you sure this is the place?" Strange asked hesitantly. "That over there looks much more like... Kamar-Taj."

He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected, but it certainly hadn’t been this.

The building in front of him had a weathered red-brick wall and an utterly ordinary wooden door. It looked less like the entrance to a legendary mystical sanctuary and more like the front door of some modest old residence.

Honestly, even the entrance to Evenson’s little shop in New York was wider.

As for what might be inside, Strange couldn’t imagine it being particularly impressive.

"I asked the same question when I first came here." Mordo’s mouth twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. "I wasn’t very good at respecting local customs back then, either. Here’s my advice: forget everything you think you know about how the world works."

"Okay..." Strange’s eyes shifted toward him. "That’ll help me fit in faster?"

"No."

Mordo’s smile disappeared.

He remembered some of the arrangements Evenson had made before they departed.

"It’ll help preserve your sanity."

Like people always said, appearances weren’t everything. What mattered was what lay underneath.

Strange stepped through the wooden door.

And promptly discovered that Kamar-Taj was considerably larger on the inside.

Much larger.

As the local landlords, the Ancient One and her people had apparently decided that subtlety was optional when it came to real estate. Evenson would have been jealous.

If this place ever got demolished for redevelopment, the Ancient One could probably walk away with an entire apartment complex.

Unfortunately, Strange didn’t get much time to admire the architecture.

The main hall had apparently undergone some... changes.

It had once been a serene, smoke-filled chamber with an old-world elegance to it. Peaceful. Traditional. Almost tranquil.

Now, thanks to certain arrangements made by Evenson, it had acquired an entirely different character.

Strange never got to see any of that.

The moment Mordo led him through the entrance, someone came up behind him and tied a black cloth over his eyes.

Naturally, this was another one of Evenson’s methods for enhancing the mystery surrounding Kamar-Taj.

Strange only knew that his vision had been completely taken away and that someone held his hand as they led him onward.

For nearly an hour.

There was, admittedly, a small problem with that explanation.

The Ancient One’s home might have been enormous, but it wasn’t remotely large enough to require an hour’s walk from the entrance to the main hall.

Mordo had simply used a little magic to scramble Strange’s sense of direction.

Then he’d taken him to the mill.

Strange spent the next hour tied to the tail of a donkey while it walked in circles grinding flour.

By the time enough flour had been milled for the day, Mordo finally came to retrieve him.

Once they reached their destination, Mordo removed the blindfold.

After spending so long in complete darkness, Strange’s eyes were painfully unprepared for sunlight.

White flooded his vision.

His eyes burned.

He blinked repeatedly until the world slowly returned to focus.

And then he froze.

He was standing in the middle of a courtyard paved with blue-gray stone slabs. Behind him stood a large fish tank in a distinctly East Asian style.

Ahead of him was the main hall.

And Strange could see everything inside.

The first thing that caught his attention was the enormous throne occupying the exact center of the hall.

It was at least three meters wide.

A ceremonial canopy hung above it, and the seat itself was covered with the pelt of a white tiger.

But the throne wasn’t even the strangest thing in the room.

Standing beside it was a wooden perch.

And crouched on that perch was a massive golden eagle.

Strange’s facial muscles twitched.

The bird was enormous. Easily more than a meter tall even while perched.

And, more importantly...

It wasn’t chained.

That seemed like an important detail.

Beneath the throne were eight heavy wooden chairs arranged in two rows.

Seven were occupied.

Men and women. Young and old.

Every one of them was watching Strange with varying degrees of curiosity.

Behind the throne, hanging on the central wall, was a painting of an eye.

At first glance, it resembled the Eye of Horus from Egyptian mythology.

But the longer Strange looked at it, the more he realized it wasn’t quite the same.

He had absolutely no idea what tradition it belonged to.

Several other paintings hung around it, each apparently corresponding to one of the eight seats below.

A tiger and yaksha.

A depiction of Yama.

An eight-armed naga.

A rising sun.

A crimson dragon.

And several others.

The whole arrangement left Strange profoundly unsettled.

This wasn’t Kamar-Taj.

Surely it wasn’t.

He’d come to the wrong place.

Because this looked less like a mystical sanctuary and more like the headquarters of a particularly successful band of magical bandits.

And if it really was Kamar-Taj...

Could he still leave?

The absurdly theatrical design, of course, was entirely Evenson’s doing.

Evenson and Clea sat opposite each other beneath the throne. Victor Sterling, Olivan, Lily Grant, and Master Hamir represented the main Kamar-Taj organization, while Margani, the leader of the London Sanctum, had been placed farther out for reasons of his own.

Mordo, having personally escorted Strange all the way here, stepped forward and took the remaining empty chair without hesitation.

"Mordo."

Evenson looked lazily at Strange, whose clothes were still in a thoroughly miserable state.

Then he frowned.

"Where did you pick up this ragamuffin?"

Mordo paused.

He mentally reviewed the lines he’d been given.

"This man traveled all the way from America seeking Kamar-Taj’s help. His sincerity is evident. I believe we should give him a chance."

"All the way from America?" Evenson stared at him in disbelief. "What is this, the eighteenth century? He took a plane. At most, it took him a day."

He rolled his eyes toward Strange.

"So what exactly does he want?"

"Treatment for my hands."

Strange raised his scarred, trembling hands.

"I was told Kamar-Taj possesses advanced methods capable of healing them. It’s my only remaining hope."

"Oh?"

Evenson drew the word out.

He glanced toward Mordo.

Mordo gave the slightest nod.

Evenson leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"You’ve made a terrible mistake."

His tone became reproachful.

"Bringing an untested stranger straight into the inner circle without even putting him through the proper process is already against procedure. And now you want him to attain..."

He paused dramatically.

"...the Celestial Path?"

Cough.

Cough, cough.

Everyone except Clea, who merely smiled and nodded approvingly, began coughing.

They had to give the man something impressive to aspire to.

You couldn’t exactly recruit someone by telling them your secret techniques were called things like Crazy Dog Palm, Turtle Fist, or Black Dragon Blast.

Names mattered.

"A person’s eligibility to attain..." Mordo’s voice caught.

His jaw tightened.

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to continue.

"Whether he is worthy of the Celestial Path isn’t something people like you or me have the authority to decide."

"Indeed."

Clea nodded solemnly.

"We have no right to judge another person’s potential. That decision belongs to the one above us."

Evenson’s eyes narrowed.

"You mean..."

The timing was perfect.

Every person in the hall stood as though they’d rehearsed the movement a dozen times.

They turned toward the throne and raised their hands in salute.

Then, together, they shouted:

"Summon the Supreme!"

The enormous golden eagle suddenly shifted on its perch.

It spread its wings and released two sharp cries.

The sound alone was impressive.

The wingspan was over three meters. Each wing was roughly a meter and a half long.

Unfortunately for Evenson, he was standing directly beside it.

The bird casually swung one wing.

Whump.

Evenson was smacked straight back into his chair.

He sat there in stunned silence.

You feathered menace.

For one brief moment, his expression suggested that he intended to turn the bird into dinner.

Then he reconsidered.

Fine.

After this was over, he’d steal the bird and sell it.

Much more profitable.

Strange, however, wasn’t paying attention to Evenson’s humiliation.

The dramatic announcement had convinced him that the important person was about to make an appearance.

He stared intently at the side entrance of the main hall.

He wanted to see the legendary Supreme Sorcerer.

But strangely...

No one appeared.

The room remained silent.

The Supreme Sorcerer showed absolutely no intention of coming out.

It was almost as if she desperately regretted agreeing to attend this ridiculous ceremony.

Ahem.

Evenson coughed loudly.

Nothing.

He coughed again.

Still nothing.

Then, at last, a long, weary sigh drifted from the inner room.

It was a sigh filled with regret.

And frustration.

And the crushing realization that one had made a terrible mistake by trusting the wrong person.

The Ancient One finally stepped outside.

Her expression was extraordinarily solemn.

Or, if one wanted to be less charitable, extraordinarily rigid with embarrassment.

She approached the throne.

Her face remained composed through sheer force of will.

Her lips, however, betrayed her with two tiny tremors.

I’m getting too old for this.

How did I ever agree to let that man organize this?

From Strange’s perspective, a dignified bald woman wearing pale robes and walking barefoot emerged from the inner chamber.

Her presence was elegant.

Regal, even.

Then she reached the throne...

And didn’t sit down.

Instead, she turned her back to everyone.

Strange blinked.

The Supreme Sorcerer had her eyes closed.

Was something wrong with them?

If his hands were still functional, perhaps he could even offer her medical treatment.

Then again, keeping her eyes closed certainly made her seem mysterious.

Before Strange could think any further, Evenson suddenly called out:

"Northwest sky, one lonely cloud! A raven falls among the phoenixes! Toss the vines—"

He paused.

"—just tell us who you are!"

Strange snapped out of his thoughts.

"I... I’m Stephen Strange. I’m from the United States."

He hurriedly straightened.

"I’m a doctor."

Evenson snorted.

"You say you’re Stephen Strange, so you’re Stephen Strange? Where’s your proof? For all we know, you’re just some random guy who walked in off the street."

Mordo’s head snapped toward Evenson.

His glare could have cut steel.

You’re unbelievable.

The man’s identification had been burned to ashes by Evenson himself.

And could he please stop talking like a lunatic?

Strange, meanwhile, was desperately trying to figure out how he was supposed to prove that he was himself.

Evenson wasn’t finished.

"Your identity is unverified. You haven’t undergone the proper trials. Yet somehow you’ve already decided you’re ready to attain the Celestial Path..."

"That’s enough!"

The Ancient One finally lost patience.

She raised a hand and cut him off.

"You’re Stephen Strange, correct?"

Strange nodded.

"You came here seeking help?"

"Yes."

"Then come with me. We’ll discuss it in the inner chamber."

She turned and walked away.

Strange followed immediately.

She didn’t acknowledge anyone else.

Not even Evenson.

Once the two had disappeared, Evenson stared after them in confusion.

"What happened?"

He looked around at the others.

"I told everyone not to rush. I had several more stages planned. Why did she skip half the ceremony?"

"Give it a rest."

Lily Grant walked over with her arms folded, shaking her head.

"I was sitting there watching your little performance and I got goosebumps from secondhand embarrassment. Do you really think the Ancient One could have endured any more of it?"

She sighed.

"You’re lucky she didn’t punch you."

Evenson clicked his tongue.

What a waste.

He had put so much effort into the production.

He shook his head sadly, then walked over to the throne and carefully removed the white tiger pelt.

...