American comic book: My Father is Superman, am I just an NPC?

Chapter 103 The Mysterious Marvel! The Origin of Power! [10.5k]

The piercing sound of the truck horn was like a slap to Ian's eardrums.

"Damn it! Great Fortune Celestial Venerable!" He instinctively jumped back, his back slamming into a fire hydrant on the street corner with a "bang," the cold metal creaking under the weight through his thin T-shirt.

Fortunately, the fire hydrant was not damaged to the point of starting to spray water.

"You're asking for it, you bastard! Do you know you're blocking the way?" the truck driver roared, leaning halfway out of the window, causing the Santa Claus doll hanging on the rearview mirror to sway.

“First of all, I’m standing on a pedestrian crossing, and secondly… I hope you really did remember to buy insurance.” Ian stepped forward and kicked the stopped truck twice.

The wheels of two trucks were blown off on the spot.

Before the driver could react...

Ian then tore off the truck's fuel tank with his bare hands and threw it onto the back of a pickup truck—a passing driver probably realized he had encountered a gift from nature.

"Om~"

He floored the gas pedal and sped off with his haul, disappearing around the street corner in the blink of an eye. However, his escape speed was nowhere near as fast as Ian's.

"Hello! Is this 911? I've been robbed by a little kid! Yes... he stole my gas tank, and he had an accomplice. It must have been a premeditated crime!"

“He didn’t use any tools, he just removed my fuel tank with his bare hands, and kicked away six of my truck wheels, so now I have to change my spare tire.”

"What? You think I'm joking? I'm not joking!"

"What do you mean, 'please provide my identification information first'? Damn it! Don't think I don't know you're trying to be racist! You white people only protect your own race!"

“My extended family went through so much trouble to smuggle themselves over from the Curry Country, but you won’t give them legal status. This is a lack of freedom and democracy!”

"Is it a moral decline... Hey, hey, hey?"

The incessantly rambling Indian driver was in a helpless rage over the phone call that had already been disconnected.

Must respond to every emergency?

nonexistent.

It is necessary to distinguish between genuine and false alarms.

Operators in the US police force have considerable autonomy in this regard.

……

After running for two blocks, Ian finally stopped, not because he was too tired, but because his shoes had long since burst open and he didn't want to continue performing barefoot running for passersby.

"No, this world can affect me again? Is this a good thing or a bad thing?" Ian was puzzled. No one knew what the so-called creator meant.

Instead of giving Ian a suspended position above his head, He created a separate title for him: "Saint of Merit," a title that would be visible to everyone wherever he went and grant him various privileges.

That damned Creator.

They even encouraged the will of the universe to use the Great Fortune Celestial Venerable to scare the little boy!
This is something that uncles and aunts can tolerate, but Ian... After weighing the pros and cons, Ian chose to tolerate it as well, after all, fortunes can change in the future.

He still needs to grow.

To mingle on someone else's turf.

In any case, you have to endure a little bit of anger.

"Damn it! Why isn't this new Marvel world a world where trucks weren't invented?!" Ian wasn't actually afraid of the Great Fortune Celestial.

No matter how many trucks or planes were thrown at him, he would remain completely unmoved. He was only slightly intimidated by the Great Fortune Celestial Venerable, whose four wheels were on the ground and showed signs of movement.

No one can explain why.

Perhaps the aftereffects of time travel are just that hard to erase.

“I felt the malice of the Creator.” Ian stared at his left shoe, which was completely unglued and the toe of the shoe grinned as if mocking his “flying kick to the truck” feat.

"If you'd said it could have affected me earlier, I would have used my fists." Ian muttered, rubbing his hands together, and noticed a warm yellow tent set up across the street.

[Winter Giveaway - Free Shoes and Clothing, Everyone Receives a Share.]

This is another scenic view in America.

Wealthy individuals or churches often provide charitable aid for reasons such as votes or other interests. Since it's a matter of free lunch, Ian immediately stepped forward to thank the wealthy individuals for their generosity.

Merry Christmas! May you have a warm winter!

A volunteer handed me a pair of sturdy work boots.

“I’m not very happy, but… thank you.” Ian took the brand-new boots, squeezed the soles, felt that the quality was good, and then quickly picked up another pair from the pile of shoes.

The volunteer didn't stop him because Ian smiled at her. Being handsome gives you an advantage, even when you're homeless.

"Are your eyes wearing colored contact lenses? They look so beautiful."

She even gave Ian a lovestruck look.

"Thank you."

Ian thanked him again and left politely. He first changed into new shoes, then tied another pair of shoes together with shoelaces and hung them around his neck like sausages.

on the street.

Crowds of people.

Cars flowed in and out.

There was a vitality that Ian had never felt in that frozen world before.

He looked around.

Suddenly I felt someone tugging at my sleeve.

"Sir, would you like to buy some? It will help a poor little boy have enough money to buy a PSP." There were even children selling cookies on the roadside.

He also became entangled with Ian.

“It only costs five dollars, and I’ll even pray for you to pray to Jesus.” The little boy in the knitted hat held up a tin box containing a few rather abstractly shaped cookies.

"Then talk to him a bit more and ask him to give you a game console." Ian wasn't fooled. He felt that the little boy's craftsmanship didn't deserve a PSP, which he didn't even have.

Please help me, please help the child.

The little boy's eyes were red-rimmed, and he looked pitiful.

"Who isn't a child at heart? If you keep bothering me, I'll report your mother and grandmother for sexually harassing me. Trust me, I'll win."

Ian's deep voice intimidated the little boy in front of him.

"..."

The boy could only abandon the tricks Ian had already learned, watching fearfully as Ian gradually disappeared around the street corner. His young heart, however, had already been deeply shaken by what it had become.

"It's so annoying to have to start socializing all over again in this world." Ian felt a little melancholy as he wandered aimlessly through the streets, the dazzling array of shops making his head spin.

It's started snowing.

The weather is quite unpredictable.

A cold wind swirled snowflakes and crept into Ian's collar, making him shrink back. It did have a bit of an apocalyptic winter feel to it, but the temperature wasn't nearly that cold yet.

Greenwich Village, Black Street

Ian walked past the street sign. On both sides of the street, Christmas decorations shone brightly. Pedestrians hurried by, wrapped tightly in their coats, their breath lingering briefly in the air before dissipating.

In front of a three-story Victorian-style brownstone townhouse.

The small table covered with purple velvet was quite eye-catching.

There was a crystal ball, tarot cards, and a crooked sign on it.

Tarot Reading

Behind the small table sat a horse-faced man wearing a cheap red cloak. His beard was neatly trimmed, but his hairstyle looked wild, as if it had been ravaged by a tornado.

“Young man! You look worried. It’s obvious you’ve been having a lot of bad luck lately. This is a sign that your destiny star is dim. Why don’t you try a tarot reading?” He was shuffling tarot cards with exaggerated movements when he saw Ian pass by and immediately gave him a mysterious smile.

They look exactly like fraudsters.

"I do not need it, thank you."

Ian didn't stop, maintaining basic politeness, politely declining the other person's offer before continuing on his way. Behind him, the fortune teller sighed regretfully, lamenting the sluggish market.

In this regard.

Ian didn't hear it.

His attention had been drawn to the television in the window of the electronics store on the street.

"What the hell!"

Ian's golden eyes narrowed sharply.

The decadent mood had completely vanished.

Instead, a trembling astonishment filled the air. On the screen, a figure in a familiar uniform walked onto the stage, and then the audience, resembling a talent show, erupted in enthusiastic cheers.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" The host's enthusiastic voice reverberated throughout the street through the surround sound system, "Let's welcome tonight's grand finale star—Spider-Man Cyclone!"

As soon as this sentence came out.

It immediately attracted a crowd of people on the street to gather around the television in the shop window.

"It's Spider Whirlwind!"

"Oh my god! I love him the most!"

"His whirlwind jet is a classic that no one else can surpass to this day!"

……

The onlookers around him were all whispering among themselves.

Ian wouldn't listen to a word.

He rubbed his eyes and looked again at the person on the audition stage. The clothes he was wearing were no different from the superhero costume he remembered, but now the young boy was standing on the stage.

Peter Parker

The boy's name was displayed on the television screen.

"What the hell!"

Ian couldn't help but take a few steps back.

Spider-Man Peter Parker, this superhero was actually wearing a sequined modified suit, with a toothy grin cutout in his mask. On stage, he first did a split and then a backflip!

"Ladies and gentlemen! The New York Boys are here! Where's the applause and screams?" Peter Parker grabbed a rope from the stage and levitated himself like a spinning top. His red and blue bodysuit was covered with glowing LED lights, and the Spider logo on his back had been replaced with exaggerated fluorescent pink polka dots.

music.

Rhythm.

Spin.

dancing.

"!!!"

Ian was stunned.

What did he see!
I saw Spider-Man dancing wildly on stage!

The background music was deafening.

The passersby surrounding the television set cheered just like the viewers inside.

"They're here! They're almost here!"

"Whirlwind Jet!"

Two children appeared unusually excited.

I saw.

Let's get hyped!

Peter shouted into the microphone, then slid to his knees, braced himself with his hands, and suddenly lifted his hips—at that moment, Ian, who had been staring blankly, finally understood what a whirlwind jet meant.

"puff!"

Spider-Man's butt is spitting webs!
A large clump of white spider silk shot out in a fan shape, precisely covering the faces of the judges in the front row! At that moment, the audience in front of the television and those watching on TV erupted in enthusiastic screams.

The atmosphere seemed quite lively.

A young man with a mohawk waved a fluorescent sign that read "Spider-Man Boy, I love you" and fainted. Even next to the TV, several girls looked like they were about to collapse at any moment.

"??????"

It had been a long time since Ian had a question mark on his face.

His eyes were wide open, like kettlebells, but not brass bells.

"My eyes! My new eyes are going to go blind!" Ian closed his eyes and rubbed his chin hard to make sure it hadn't fallen directly onto the snow.

It's terrifying!

Is this true?
It's even scarier than the horror stories Jonathan loves to read!

"An impersonator! Or a fake!" Ian refused to believe what he was seeing. He had a bad feeling and, somewhat dazed, backed away and stood in the middle of the street again.

"Is the Creator here? If so, squeak..."

To prevent the Great Fortune Celestial Venerable from reappearing, Ian lowered his voice as he looked up and said, "If he's there, throw hundreds of golden apples the size of my head on my head?"

They had already been cautious enough in their probing.

Ian still received no response.

“No, is this reasonable? Is this correct? This…” Ian’s voice stopped abruptly before he could finish expressing his genuine astonishment, because he turned his head and saw the clothing store on the street.

That man.

The man in the Marvel Universe who always believed he wasn't cheating was standing in front of the glass window of a clothing store, holding his iconic shield.

It is not a human model.

Because of Ian's excellent eyesight, he caught the subtle movement of the other person's neck.

The boy's breathing stopped again.

Perhaps sensing Ian's gaze, the live mannequin in the shop window, wearing only short shorts and bare-chested with perfectly muscular muscles, flashed Ian a bright, white-toothed smile.

Yes.

The famous Captain America, the original leader of the Marvel Universe, is now posing in various bodybuilding positions in front of the display window, with the olive oil applied to his abs even shimmering under the spotlight!
"Boom boom boom!"

Ian rushed forward.

He pressed his face directly against the cold shop window glass, his breath condensing into mist on the surface. Suddenly, the mannequin came to life and gestured for him not to tap on the glass.

"I'm afraid I've fallen for Tony's illusion!" Ian's gaze was fixed on the shield in the model's hand, which the iconic shield was once again being held in mid-air like a dumbbell.

"Are you really Steve Rogers?"

Ian, refusing to believe it, flung open the door and rushed into the store, the doorbell ringing cheerfully. A gust of cold wind, carrying snowflakes, chased after him, leaving a few marks on the antique-style wooden floor.

"That's right, it's me, your favorite Captain America." The model flashed a standard eight-tooth smile, his abs rising and falling with his breath; his muscles certainly looked high-tech.

"Child, I know what you want to do."

Steve struck a pose, showing off his biceps. "Want to touch them? A classic that modern technology can't replicate. Just one dollar and you can touch them for a full minute."

Good guy.

They've even started charging fees.

"..."

Ian was struck by a silent blow.

"How did you end up doing this here?" He hesitated for a while, but finally couldn't help asking, his mind filled with a strange animal called "alpaca" galloping through his mind.

"Forehead."

Steve was taken aback at first, then showed a helpless expression.

"Well, what can I do? I have to eat, after all. Those politicians are just money-grubbing bastards. Can you believe they're paying me a pension based on World War II standards?"

He dropped his flamboyant display, looking somewhat dejected, and muttered under his breath, "Retirement pension based on 1945 standards? What kind of person could come up with such a trick to deal with me, fuck! I've slept in the ice for decades and never had a nightmare like this!"

Perhaps because Ian was a child, Steve used very restrained swear words, almost equivalent to interjections like "motherfucker".

"..."

Ian's silence reflected his inner state at that moment.

Deafening.

"I'm sorry... but this has nothing to do with me. It's Tony, it must be him. He's not mentally stable. He doesn't want to see a doctor himself and he wants to force the doctor on me."

Ian's expression was quite complicated. If he still couldn't figure out by now that the problem lay with this reopened world, he would be letting down his super brain.

"what are you saying?"

Steve paused, not understanding what Ian meant. He glanced at Ian's clothes, then suddenly pulled a small card from his shorts.

"Looks like you're a rich kid. I'll be live on YouTube tonight at 8 PM, leading you through the [American Butt-Making Project]. Remember to subscribe on time!"

"If you want a butt like mine, you have to start training it from a young age." Ian didn't dare take Captain America's card; the man maintained his professional smile.

“I’m handsome enough that I don’t need a perky butt anymore. It’s the other perky butts that need me.” Ian said, picking up a clothes support pole next to him.

He helped Steve adjust his super short shorts, which were slightly revealing.

"Subscribe to my channel, and you can become even more handsome." Steve was still trying to sell, but when he saw the clothing store owner coming out from the back room, he quickly got back into position.

"Remember to subscribe!"

Steve gave his final instructions in a voice barely above a whisper, then returned to a statue-like stillness, as if afraid of being penalized for moving around.

"Sir, is there anything I can help you with?"

The clothing store owner approached Ian.

"Pray for me that none of this is real, thank you." Ian knocked over a row of clothes racks as he turned around, and the mannequins' wigs rolled all over the floor like colorful mushrooms.

This shows just how much of an impact the little boy was on his heart at that moment.

"Feel sorry."

Ian pushed open the door of the clothing store and rushed out. He wasn't running away in a panic, but rather he suddenly realized a problem and turned back to the area he had passed through earlier.

Greenwich Village, Black Street

He carefully sent Steve's overly lush, mysterious hair back into his tight shorts.

As the protagonist jogged closer to the brownstone townhouse, the man who had set up his stall seemed to have already packed up; not only was the small table gone, but the villa's front door was also completely shut.

The cold wind swirled the snowflakes.

Ian stood before the oak gate, which was carved with mysterious runes, looking up at the Victorian-style super villa. If he wasn't mistaken, this should be the so-called Sanctuary.

The sanctuary of Kamar-Taj.

From the outside, it looks much like the surrounding houses, except that it is a bit more aesthetically pleasing, with the charm of French Baroque architecture and a unique Mansard roof.

Before the buildings were built, this place was used by a Native American shaman as a place to seal away demons, and later became a mass grave and a site for cult killings.

It later became Kamar-Taj, the territory of the sorcerer's sanctuary on Earth in the Marvel Universe. At some point, the originally evil place became the Sorcerer Supreme's base in New York.

It is also the residence of Doctor Strange.

If Captain America and Spider-Man were to become characters like that, then the identity of the street swindler Ian encountered here would be self-evident.

“I can’t accept this at all; this isn’t the Marvel journey I wanted.” Ian was very frustrated. The gargoyle on the spire tilted its head, as if mocking his hesitation.

After more than ten seconds of hesitation.

The boy took a deep breath and raised his hand to knock on the door—thump, thump, thump.

The sound was very loud.

Unfortunately, no one responded to him.

“That’s really strange,” Ian muttered, withdrawing his hand, a fine layer of verdigris clinging to his fingertips. “Don’t the mages of Kamar-Taj even maintain the door knockers of their temples?”

It's not that Ian is nitpicking. It's just that it's somewhat puzzling.

As an important building that protects Earth and the universe, the Sanctuary is a crucial node in the protective barrier and should therefore be regularly maintained.

How does it look now?

It's almost as dilapidated as America's Air Force fighter jets?

"Dong Dong Dong~"

Confused, Ian knocked on the door again. This time, the door seemed to widen slightly, and a strong, plant-based incense scent wafted out of the room.

"Is it an invitation? Or was the door not locked properly?"

Ian tried to push the door open.

The heavy oak doors slid open silently, revealing a magnificent, golden hall inside. Floating candlesticks cast a warm glow, illuminating the thin layer of dust accumulated on the spiral staircase railing.

It looks like it hasn't been wiped down for at least several months.

"Is anyone home?"

Ian politely peeked out to ask a question. His voice echoed in the hall, startling several pigeons perched on the chandelier and revealing the direction they were heading.

Feathers drifted down.

A folding table covered with purple velvet was stored in a corner, where there was also a rocking armchair, where the horse-faced man we had seen before was lying leisurely.

The man was even more disheveled than when he was seen on the street—his dark blue pajama bottoms were peeking out from under his monk's robe, his left slipper was missing, and there was a hole in his right sock.

He was flipping through a Sherlock Holmes book with his long, slender fingers. On the hardcover cover, Holmes' pipe had been highlighted with a fluorescent pen to resemble some kind of magic wand.

"Sir, why aren't you still setting up your stall?" Ian stepped onto the old Persian carpet, his boots sinking into it. His outgoing personality led him to ask the question.

"Of course, it's because I'll stop once I earn 200 yuan a day." The man answered subconsciously, then suddenly slammed the book shut as if he had just realized something.

"and many more!"

The man suddenly stood up, spilling the hot tea that was placed next to him onto his pajama bottoms. He didn't seem to care much about it, and looked at Ian with a hint of surprise and uncertainty in his eyes.

A red cloak flew automatically onto his back.

Authentication has been successful.

"How did you get in here?!"

Doctor Strange stared wide-eyed in disbelief.

"Maybe it's because the door wasn't locked?"

Ian pointed behind him, making a slightly embarrassed expression.

"This has nothing to do with whether the door is locked or not, right? Where are the temple's protective spells?" Doctor Strange rushed to the front door in a few moments, and after checking it, his expression became even more incredulous.

"The protective spell is fine. Only those I have permission to approach my house are allowed, and you... you did not receive my invitation." Doctor Strange suddenly turned around at the doorway.

There was no anger on his face, but rather excitement. "This proves that the temple itself invited you, which also means that you are probably one of those extraordinary talents who were born to become a mage!"

Doctor Strange made a reasonable judgment.

At least it was a judgment he considered reasonable.

"..."

Ian remained silent for a moment.

Are you trying to deduce things like Sherlock Holmes?

He found himself increasingly unable to understand the world's superheroes.

Out of place.

That's probably how it feels.

"what?"

Doctor Strange paused for a moment.

"Have you discovered all this?"

He was a little embarrassed and had the cloak help him scratch his head.

It really feels like I'm lazy to the extreme.

"Don't learn it next time."

Ian sighed deeply.

"It doesn't resemble it at all, but even so, it still makes me a little prone to thinking of Sherlock Holmes stories."

His words left Doctor Strange completely bewildered.

I pondered it for a long time.

I couldn't figure out whether Ian was praising himself or criticizing himself.

"Stephen Strange? Former neurosurgeon?" Ian was feeling rather melancholy, so he didn't continue the small talk and instead confirmed his identity with Doctor Strange.

Hear the words.

Doctor Strange was taken aback at first.

"You even know this?" Then, as if he had "deduced" something, he slapped his forehead. "Looks like you have an extraordinary talent for precognition!"

"That's fantastic! At least you won't starve anymore!"

"Child, are your parents around here? Never mind, that's not important, I can handle them—it's up to you. How about you consider switching careers and becoming a magnificent mage?"

"It's true, I'm not kidding you, you have the potential to become the Sorcerer Supreme!"

"I am the Sorcerer Supreme. Look how cool this cloak is! You don't even need to wait until I die. Once you learn it, I'll give it to you, and I'll immediately find a place to hang myself!"

"A seamless rise to power! It couldn't be more brilliant!"

Doctor Strange spoke quickly, but that didn't prove his thinking was fast either. He rattled off a whole bunch of things, and his intention to fool Ian was far too obvious.

"..."

Ian looked around.

No trace of a second mage was found.

He roughly understood.

"Are you the only one left in Kamar-Taj?"

Ian's tone was somewhat tentative.

Doctor Strange's excited expression froze instantly.

"Well, it's not just me left, it's just that the others... the others don't have that much talent, you know—it seems you've already had some exposure to the magical world beforehand."

"Is it from a family of sorcerers?" Doctor Strange abruptly changed the subject, his approach clumsy and obvious. He was clearly trying to cover something up, and it felt like he was trying to pull Ian into a tug-of-war.

however.

Ian didn't want to get involved with Doctor Strange.

“No, I’m not from a family of mages, I’m from a family of positive energy… Damn it, can’t this world be a little more normal? Compared to something as unimportant as learning magic…” Ian interrupted Doctor Strange, who was still trying to fool people, “I actually want to know what’s going on in this world.”

He stared intently at the Supreme Master before him.

"What's going on?"

Doctor Strange looked somewhat bewildered.

"You're setting up a fortune-telling stall outside, Captain America is working as a model in a clothing store, and Spider-Man is doing a striptease... Damn, I really hope he's just doing a striptease!"

Ian held his forehead.

Even if it's him.

They all found it hard to accept such an absurd world.

"Oh, you mean those two? They're perfectly normal, just trying to make a living." Doctor Strange lay back in his chair, his tone carrying an air of unwarranted complacency.

The red cloak behind him flew back onto the clothes rack.

"That's a superhero!"

Ian covered his head.

"No, I need to see the Ancient One, I need to see Eternity... Go quickly and tell Eternity that I have done my part for Marvel, I have shed blood for Marvel, I deserve an answer."

He can accept the absurdity of Marvel.

The boy, who had finally become a hero, couldn't quite accept that his heroic act had created such a bizarre and outrageous world.

"Eternity? If I knew how to get close to a big shot like that, would I still be here reading novels?" Doctor Strange picked up the Sherlock Holmes book again.

"What are you hiding in your crotch? I can sense magic." Doctor Strange said as he read, conjuring up a chair for Ian.

But Ian had no intention of sitting down.

"A demonic book?"

Ian pulled his collection out of his crotch. To be honest, he still didn't understand what the book was. Perhaps Doctor Strange could help him identify it.

Although the world is different.

However, some things still have something in common.

Ian's Book of Creation

This book likes to change its name, which Ian finds very appealing, but he still walks up to the book with the sycophantic book in hand, trying to get the Marvel Universe's Sorcerer Supreme to judge it.

however.

"What the hell is this? The words on it are twisted into monsters, I can't understand them at all."

Doctor Strange gave Ian a suspicious look. "As for demons? Are you trying to scare me? Even a ten-year-old sorcerer should know that demons only exist in bedtime stories."

His words carried a hint of disdain.

Ian's pupils contracted sharply.

I noticed something was wrong again.

"What do you mean? You've never seen a demon? Never fought a dimensional demon? Dormammu? Cyttorak?" With his super brain functioning normally, Ian keenly captured crucial information.

He immediately followed up with more questions.

They also snatched the Sherlock Holmes stories from Doctor Strange's hands.

"Who are Dormammu and Cyttorak?" Without the books, Doctor Strange could only answer Ian helplessly. In his heart, he already regarded Ian as the successor who would replace him.

You can't be impatient either.

We still have to trick them into joining our sect.

"It's a dimensional demon god, or you could call it a dimensional lord."

Ian swallowed hard.

He seemed to have realized what the God of Machines, Tony, had done.

as predicted.

"I don't know what a dimensional demon is." Doctor Strange picked up the empty teacup, took a few sips, and when he put the teacup down, it was full as if he had vomited.

"And no one has ever actually seen a demon, because demons are just stories used to scare children. They may appear in movies and TV shows, but they are at most products of people's imaginations."

Doctor Strange's answer remained as matter-of-fact as ever.

A deathly silence enveloped the hall.

"Oh……"

Ian's expression kept changing.

“Tony, you still say you weren’t affected… Oh, he seemed to be silent then.”

His brain seemed to freeze slightly.

"No, then what kind of magic do the mages of Kamar-Taj practice? And this cloak of yours, its power should come from the Triune Vishanti, right?"

Ian seemed to have found a loophole in this world.

only.

"Um... what is Vishanti? You're making me a little confused. It seems you have some understanding of the mage world, but why does that understanding seem to be mixed with a lot of fantasy?"

Doctor Strange stood up from his chair and manually took down the cloak that had been automatically hung on the hanger. Its somewhat cheap and inferior texture looked very out of place.

"This is my cloak of levitation. It's not some Vishanti creation, but a magical artifact I made myself... Heaven knows how much effort I put into making it."

"But that's how it is when you practice magic; you can only rely on yourself for everything." Doctor Strange's tone was full of emotion, and his words seemed to reveal why this place was so desolate.

No creditors!

No backing!

In this Marvel Universe, magic can only be cultivated through personal effort! And the reason for this must be the information Tony added when setting up the Infinity Gauntlet!

Tony tampered with the planning information! He mixed in his own agenda!

"Without a source of magic to bestow power, is there a shortcut for mages? I mean, a more convenient way to cultivate?" Ian swallowed hard, trying to process the information.

"No."

Doctor Strange shook his head.

The way he looked at Ian was very strange.

"So there are people in this world who are lazier than me."

His tone was full of emotion.

"Where did you get this magical artifact? Did you steal it from your parents?" Doctor Strange's attention returned to the magical book Ian had pulled out. He began to consider whether he could defeat Ian's parents, snatch the child, and take him back to Kamar-Taj to learn magic.

And at this time.

"Dong Dong Dong~"

A knocking sound came from the door.

"It's my takeout."

Doctor Strange was immediately drawn to the attention.

He ran quickly toward the gate.

"I didn't see you react this quickly when I knocked on the door. Can't a boy like me be a delivery boy?" Ian asked, puzzled, but Doctor Strange looked even more puzzled.

“You didn’t knock. If you had, I would have heard you,” Doctor Strange said as he opened the door, letting in a gust of cold wind carrying the aroma of cheese.

It's pizza delivery.

The delivery girl was pretty.

Ian looks familiar.

"Hey, Gwen, you've finally stopped wearing leather pants! Do you remember our bond? You owe me over 180 favors, and you can't just renege on that so easily!"

Ian greeted him, trying to gauge whether this acquaintance had any memories of the past.

Yes.

Standing outside the door was a girl wearing a bunny-eared beanie, holding a pizza box in her hands, her nose red from the cold. This beautiful pizza girl was Gwen Stacy.

"what?"

Gwen stared blankly at the boy inside the room.

"you are?"

She felt the face looked familiar, but couldn't quite place it.

“Me? Ian, the Wonder Boy. You begged me to be the new Spider-Man, but I didn’t agree.” Ian keenly caught the fleeting look in Gwen’s eyes.

"I knew it! The bond of friendship can transcend time and space!" Ian was extremely excited. He pushed Doctor Strange aside, rushed out the door, picked up the bewildered Gwen, and ran outside.

"Put me down! This is a kidnapping! It's a kidnapping!"

Gwen was so frightened that she turned pale.

“We have to find Tony! If you remember me, even just a little bit, then Tony must be just like you!” Ian always had his own plans.

"God! What are you saying? What kind of amazing boy are you? You're a complete lunatic! Damn it! Why does this phrase sound so familiar?!"

Gwen punched Ian in the back.

But they found that Ian's back was rock hard.

"Excellent!"

Ian was overjoyed.

"That's it! The power of bonds continues to work!"

He quickly crossed the street.

Behind.

Doctor Strange, who was pushed to the ground, looked bewildered, like a discarded old hag.

"You wretched brat! I was just about to invite you for pizza! And this is how you treat me? Fine, you can treat me like this... Are you even going to come back as the Sorcerer Supreme or not?!"

He stood up, picked up the pizza box from the ground, opened it to eat the pizza, and shouted outside—but the only response he received was Ian carrying Gwen as he rode off into the distance and disappeared in a flash.

Ian was in a hurry.

Because Ian is coming back soon.

"How can he run so fast... Holy crap! He jumped up! He's flying!" Doctor Strange stared at the scene in the distance, and the half-pizza in his hand fell directly to the ground.

After a while.

He slowly recovered from his shock.

"It's only been ten minutes since it fell on the ground, it can definitely still be eaten."

Doctor Strange picked up the pizza from the ground, slammed the door shut in frustration, and walked back into the Great Hall of the Temple. His greasy hands reached straight for the Sherlock Holmes stories.

perhaps.

this moment.

Something in the dark seemed to be tapping into Doctor Strange's mind.

"Wait, what did he just say his name was?" Doctor Strange suddenly ran towards the back hall of the Sanctum Sanctorum, opened a portal, and instantly traversed an extremely long distance.

Kama Taj.

Stephen Strange stepped across the threshold, his boots clattering against the stone floor.

There was no greeting from the apprentice.

There was no conversation between the monks.

Only the mournful sound of the cold wind whistling through the corridors could be heard. The deserted holy site was desolate; the wooden dummy in the training ground was covered in dust, and a few abandoned training clothes hung on the rack, already weathered.

“I remember this name!” Doctor Strange’s footsteps echoed through the corridor as he pushed open door after door, arriving at the dusty and empty library. Doctor Strange’s fingers wandered among the sparsely stocked bookshelves, finally stopping on an ancient book with a gleaming gold cover.

He carefully pulled it out, the spine making a slight "click" sound, as if it hadn't been opened for years, and he needed to blow off the dust to see the large print on the cover.

The empty books contained no written or magical records.

but.

Ian's Magic Book

On the cover.

These large characters, even more golden than gold, are extremely eye-catching.

(End of this chapter)