The Sanctum Sanctorum was still bustling. Strange strode down the corridor, brushing the watch on his wrist with his fingers as he said, "Send Wong to my office. Have him use a portal. Don't let anyone else see."
The staff following behind him scattered toward their offices. One went to fetch Wong. Strange pushed open the door to his own office, pointed to the left to return a vase that had been knocked crooked to its proper place, then pointed upward and made all the dust on the Chandelier vanish.
Before sitting down, he moved the notebook and pen holder—the only things on his desk—against the wall. The pens in the holder were arranged by color from warm to cool, the notebook's bookmark faced outward, and everything was spotless.
After Strange sat down, Wong stepped out of a portal. He looked at Strange and said, "Sorcerer Supreme, how long has it been since you last rested?"
"The living need not sleep long; the dead will sleep forever." Strange did not care in the slightest. He adjusted his posture in the chair and looked at Wong. "How has the mages' training been lately?"
"Quite well, sir. More encouragingly, the younger mages have gained stronger offensive and defensive capabilities thanks to the upgraded wands. With some physical training, they'll be ready for battle."
Strange rested a hand against his mouth and asked, "How many people can our current wands, Cloaks, and Suspended Rings equip?"
Wong frowned, but still said, "Enough for every mage at Kamar-Taj. By that, I mean full mages, not the younger apprentices. I believe that should be enough."
Strange rubbed his brow. "So the apprentices have nothing?"
"There are still some old versions, enough to equip roughly half of them. What is it, sir? Why do you want to