This Glory! I Will Not Enjoy Alone!

Inside the New York Sanctum, the atmosphere was a little subtle.

Ian sat at his leisure on a floating cushion, toying with a cup of magical tea that could refill itself infinitely. He very much wanted to learn this kind of magic too.

It was just too interesting.

Too cool.

And he could use it to open a beverage factory.

Endless profit. Truly endless profit!

"Heh heh!"

Ian gave his own business sense a thumbs-up. Compared with his relaxation, however, Doctor Stephen Strange, not far across from him, looked like the complete opposite.

The current Sorcerer Supreme, who should have been brimming with confidence, was now "sprawled" on the floor in an extremely inelegant posture, his blue sorcerer robes torn in multiple places.

Even the exquisite Cloak of Levitation drooped to one side like a rag that had been played with until it broke.

Don't misunderstand.

Nothing that only Great Britain and that sort of level would produce had happened.

Ian had merely taught his believer a lesson.

A beating was affection, and scolding was love!

That was his teaching for believers.

Because of that, Doctor Strange had experienced Ian's "education." His face was bruised black and blue, his eye sockets dark, and a trace of blood still lingered at the corner of his mouth.

Right now, he was wiping it away miserably with the back of his hand. Those eyes, which had always flickered with wise light and a bit of arrogance, now held only a hollow emptiness that said he had nothing left to live for.

"Boohoo! How am I this unlucky?!"

Doctor Strange was now so full of regret that his guts were greener than the ex-girlfriend in a short drama. Just now, Ian had used the most "kind and friendly" method to have an "in-depth discussion"