This mission had been the most enjoyable one Salomon had undertaken in a long time.
Out of a sense of responsibility, he even used a prepaid phone to call an ambulance and gave Stephen Strange's injuries from the car crash some basic treatment before stuffing the unconscious fool back into the twisted, mangled driver's seat. He also carefully checked the fuel tank to make sure the wrecked sports car posed no risk of fire or explosion, then summoned a spirit to wander nearby and deal with any wild animals that might appear, ensuring Stephen Strange did not lose his life before the ambulance arrived.
After finishing all that, Salomon happily whistled as he opened a portal, dumped the car he had stolen by the roadside, and planned to visit a barbecue restaurant in Texas to buy some pork ribs to bring back to the manor in Oxfordshire.
The pleasure of walking down the slope with an aluminum baseball bat and smashing that poor fool's hands far surpassed all the trouble he had gone through to send Wanda Maximoff after the Mind Stone or secure a place among Wakanda's industrial nobility. For someone whose daily life was filled with war, violence on this scale was about as gentle as playing house with kindergarten children. He was not some gangster who took pleasure in violence; what truly made him happy was that this mission represented the ordinary, boring, sometimes absurd and bizarre daily life he had experienced.
The pressures brought by his three identities—the Emperor of Latveria, the ruler of the City of Immortals, and an Arcanist of Kamar-Taj—were entirely different. The titles that kept being created as his life moved forward, along with the further titles, identities, and responsibilities attached to them, were gradually testing the humanity he cherished most. Worse