Chapter 421: The Beginning of Chaos

The humanoid maid hadn't returned home for several days. Early in the morning, Bayonetta urged Solomon to bring back the adorable artificial maid from the secret base. Solomon had a busy schedule today—lunch at Oxford, a bicycle trip to the Bodleian Library in the afternoon to research historical documents, and then finally dinner back in New York.

Without the maid's help, the witches' lunch would consist of nothing but yesterday's cold meatloaf. As for the option of Hawaiian pizza, Jeanne and Bayonetta tacitly agreed to ignore it altogether.

"I'll take care of it," Solomon murmured as he leaned down to plant a kiss on Bayonetta's smooth back. Her pale skin was still marked by last night's kisses. Her silky, cloud-like hair cascaded over her shoulders, and a thin, bright-colored blanket draped loosely over her curled-up legs. A black ribbon dangled delicately from her toes, and the elegant curve of her spine paired with her perfect waist-to-hip ratio once again mesmerized him.

"What would you like to eat today?" he whispered softly into her ear, placing one hand on her waist and the other on her flat stomach. "How about some Japanese cuisine? Maybe salmon sushi?"

"For dinner, make it more extravagant," Bayonetta replied, half-asleep, a playful smile in her voice. "Go early, come back early, my dear."

"I'll make sure I'm home for dinner tonight," Solomon reassured the humanoid maid, Dana.

"Master, the training for the artificial soldier unit isn't complete yet," Dana remarked. Though she longed to return to the apartment, she also took her mission at the Citadel of Eternity seriously. Torn between these two responsibilities, she hesitated, but Solomon ultimately relieved her of duty at the base for now. Dana couldn't help but jump with joy. "Training can wait," he added. "But upsetting the witches? That's unacceptable."

Still, Dana wanted to demonstrate the progress her unit had made during this period.

The Wakandans had provided each humanoid soldier with a standard vibranium longsword—indestructible and deadly. Combined with Solomon's issued explosive bolt guns and the force-feedback exoskeletons, these ten artificial soldiers could easily win a low-intensity war.

Princess Shuri of Wakanda had also made improvements to the unit's equipment. She wasn't impressed with Stark's arc reactor system, so she had modified the power packs to be modular. When Solomon visited the Citadel again nearly a month later, he saw Shuri's additions: two retractable flame-propulsion wings and a main booster mounted on the pack, allowing any exoskeleton to be outfitted with this flight module.

While the flight device greatly enhanced mobility, it came at the cost of significant energy consumption, shortening operational time. However, with a modular design, simply swapping out a depleted pack solved the issue.

"We've been training with this flight system regularly, Master," Dana explained, pointing to the astronomical observatory atop the Citadel's rock dome. Now used as a flight training ground, artificial soldiers could be seen like red comets streaking across the vast, dark expanse, heading toward unexplored areas of the ancient fortress.

"We also have swordsmanship drills and live-fire exercises," Dana added, showing Solomon a thick report. It detailed each soldier's performance across various training categories and everyday tasks. Dana had even appointed leaders to manage daily operations within the unit.

"You've done excellent work," Solomon praised after skimming the report. "Bring a few of your top performers to meet the witches. They'll patrol around the apartment. Something big is about to happen soon, and I don't want any disturbance near our home."

"Shall I set the highest alert level?" Dana asked.

Solomon nodded. "No armed factions are allowed near that area. Authorize deadly force if necessary."

"Understood, Master," Dana replied, stowing the report. "Do you need to speak with the Wakandan princess? She seems to have significant concerns about your genetic enhancement experiments."

"That's not her decision to make," Solomon dismissed. "This agreement was between me and their god, Bast. Wakanda belongs to Bast, not the royal family. If anyone should raise objections, it's their king or Bast's representative."

"Understood, Director. I'll make sure he doesn't find out." Natasha Romanoff, clad in a black tactical bodysuit, received her mission briefing through a secure video link. On the screen, Nick Fury's stern face was etched with frustration. He wasn't pleased with how Natasha casually played with an electric shock device during the briefing, but this task required her specific expertise, so he chose to ignore her antics.

As a spy, Natasha was often entrusted with the mission's most secretive elements. However, this time her mind wasn't entirely focused on the task at hand.

"Are you sure they don't need my help over there?" she asked, without mentioning names. Fury immediately knew who she was referring to. "I think I have a decent rapport with him. He's still just a polite little boy, after all," she added with a chuckle.

"He's no ordinary boy now, Romanoff," Fury warned. "I trust Oxford's workload is enough to distract him. There's no need to provoke him unnecessarily. Everyone knows what happens when his attention turns to S.H.I.E.L.D. His ideas are dangerous, and I fear he could be exploited by our enemies."

"I'll work on building trust with him," Natasha replied, hesitating for a moment. "But… I think my charm has been less effective lately. He doesn't even glance down my neckline anymore. I'm not sure if it's shyness or something else. I believe this warrants further investigation."

"Maybe he's just matured," Fury said with a shrug, though he refrained from mentioning the recent disappearance of Asgardians or Solomon's encounter with Coulson. "Boys become men—it's natural. Don't underestimate your appeal, Romanoff. I'm sure Solomon Damonnet still admires you. Remember your long-term assignment: steer Steve Rogers toward our designated contact. But for now, focus on this mission. No one can discover your true objective."

"Yes, sir," Natasha replied, closing her laptop. She propped her feet up on the desk and exhaled deeply. Secret missions within secret missions—only the best spies could handle such layers of deception. Just when she thought she had left behind the shadowy world of espionage, those same secrets came crawling back.

She found herself reminiscing about a secluded, dimly lit restaurant where no one could overhear or spy on her—a rare haven where she could finally relax over tacos and red wine.

She only hoped Solomon's offer of a ticket would prove useful.

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