Chapter 191: The Knight’s Trial

The sorcerer ignored the flames climbing over the corpses as he stepped onto the collapsed concrete ceiling, reaching the rooftop of the police station. From the top of this single-story building, Solomon finally saw the "little pests" Nick Fury had mentioned. They were nothing more than insects from the Inferno, opportunistically escaping the lower planes as the Hellbreather died and its soul returned to its realm. These creatures were unremarkable except for their large size, a side effect of being steeped in the power of Hell.

"Fire at will, Nick Fury." Solomon sheathed his twin blades and used the power of Vishanti to conjure a spear, shaped with fiery magic. Leaning back slightly, he took a deep breath, his muscles tensing beneath the crimson sacred cloth and black ceremonial robes. Then, stepping forward sharply, he hurled the spear with the force of a spring released under extreme tension. The orange-red flaming spear arced high into the air before descending like a meteor, striking the leading Infernal cockroach with devastating precision. The impact shattered a large slab of concrete.

This was a technique taught by Athena, the spear-throwing art of Olympus. Solomon had practiced it since childhood. Compared to his swordsmanship and lance techniques, his mastery of spears and unarmed combat was particularly commendable—a testament to the rigorous training by the goddess of wisdom and war.

Solomon exhaled heavily; sweat soaked his back after the throw. The scorching ground beneath him and the relentless heat from the flames below further drenched him in perspiration, the stench of burning filling his nostrils. Pressing his communicator, he ordered, "Take them out, Nick Fury."

Nick Fury, though usually restricted from encountering such otherworldly entities by Solomon's cautiousness, welcomed this rare opportunity. Even if the creatures were merely oversized cockroaches, Fury was convinced they held research value for S.H.I.E.L.D.

"Fire! Fire!" Fury's squad moved swiftly upon receiving the command. Though few in number, they were well-trained, ensuring every bullet found its target. The Infernal cockroaches stood no chance against portable rocket-propelled grenades. Yet their ravenous hunger for fresh flesh drove them to cannibalize their own kind in desperation.

Despite some casualties, Nick Fury was satisfied with the results. This was proof that ordinary humans could pose a threat to beings from other dimensions. Magic users weren't always indispensable—this was a victory for technology and humanity. Perhaps Kamar-Taj should acknowledge mankind's achievements.

But just as Fury was about to boast to Solomon, he noticed that the Pegasus vehicle parked in the lot had vanished. Looking up, he spotted a bright white streak cutting through the fiery orange-red night sky, trailed by another red comet. The sorcerer had already left, uninterested in conversing with anyone from S.H.I.E.L.D. The insects from the lower planes held no value, and the Hellbreather's corpse was nearly incinerated. Fury was merely a tool for cleaning up the aftermath. As compensation, Solomon left the scraps for S.H.I.E.L.D. to waste time on, confident Fury wouldn't complain.

Solomon had far more pressing matters.

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"I foresaw the awakening of the One-Eyed Abomination long ago, child." Back at the Kamar-Taj headquarters, Solomon immediately reported his findings to the Ancient One. The Supreme Sorcerer, upon hearing the details, remained unsurprised. The calm demeanor unsettled Solomon slightly.

With an even tone, the Ancient One said, "The One-Eyed Abomination traverses timelines. It is present in both this timeline's future and past. Our past is its future. When it returns from the 31st century to one million years ago, we'll already know its fate. Do not overly concern yourself with it. Instead, focus on your connection to the chaotic universe. Tell me, do you still dream of those indescribable entities?"

"No, Master." Solomon shook his head. Since obtaining the Silver Key, he had been studying its intricate patterns while delving into the spells provided by Randolph Carter. These spells, regardless of their power, demanded his sanity as a cost. After using one or two during his confrontation with Dormammu, Solomon ceased, fearing he might inadvertently enter the Dreamlands during sleep and face the gods directly.

Fortunately, the bizarre nightmares had only troubled him during his first few nights after leaving Salem. They never returned. The Ancient One was aware of this; the spells protecting Solomon's dreams had been cast by the Supreme Sorcerer herself. She wouldn't let her disciple descend into madness—that wasn't her goal.

"Good." The Ancient One seemed satisfied. "The One-Eyed Abomination isn't your concern yet. It lies in the future—our future. For now, you should focus on mastering the lance and sword. On the battlefield, your elegant twin blades won't matter. You won't have time for tricks. Only straightforward techniques will suffice."

"But Master, I'm a sorcerer."

"Isn't swinging a sword faster than chanting a spell?" The Supreme Sorcerer gave her disciple a sharp look. "You might stumble over your words in haste, but a sword won't falter. At least, that's what my master told me. How's your training under Athena progressing?"

"I can confidently say I've done my best." Solomon rotated his shoulder slightly, still sore from the spear throw earlier.

"Apply some ointment," the Ancient One advised. "But your swordsmanship training can't be neglected. Dominating children with a foil at noble schools doesn't count. I'll have Athena increase your regimen because the time to use those skills is approaching."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think I'd have you invest time in useless skills? Riding, hand-to-hand combat, swordsmanship, spear-throwing, jousting—these aren't electives. They're essential because you're to inherit my title. You must become a knight worthy of these honors. Soon, you'll announce your presence to the world, proving that your titles aren't hollow but earned with your sword. This is your trial, Solomon. Though you hold the right of succession, it isn't by bloodline. The blood of the Red Dragon no longer exists. To gain the Round Table Council's approval, you must prove your worth."

"The Round Table Council? Are there other knights besides you still alive?"

"No, just me." The Ancient One shook her head, appearing slightly amused. "But even if the others were alive, my endorsement would suffice for the council. Be warned, I'm as strict in this as I am with your magical education. You've never disappointed me, and I trust you won't start now."

"Of course, Master."

"Now, show me your swordsmanship, Sir Pendragon."

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