This was a grave offense. If they went back to the days of the Great Han Dynasty, what would this amount to?
It would be like an envoy carrying out a mission, holding his tally, with a state letter tucked in his robes, riding along the road on horseback and singing. Then, out of nowhere, a band of men appeared, robbed the envoy of his money, lured him into a little dark room, and locked him up.
They had not killed him, but a scholar could be killed, not humiliated. This was worse than simply cutting him down with a single stroke. This humiliation was practically trampling all over the Great Han Dynasty's face. After such a string of outrageous maneuvers, having his head displayed at the Northern Gate Tower was out of the question. At the very least, he would get the same treatment as Wang Mang—his skull left for anyone to play with.
Coulson could not have felt worse. His crimes had already been serious enough. If he had been caught back then, he would have had no choice but to bid farewell to his carefree, drifting life in white, settling into a grand villa in some picturesque European valley under Interpol's close surveillance, enjoying round-the-clock top-tier security, eating healthy meals specially prepared by nutritionists every day, and living out the rest of his life without worrying about food or clothing. He was not even fifty yet, and he would have to retire early, never again able to devote himself to S.H.I.E.L.D. Just thinking about it was agonizing.
But now, even that miserable life was gone. He had done something so serious that even if Asgard did not take him away, Earth's governments would make an example of him to distance themselves from the matter. They certainly would