The short-haired man looked quite young, perhaps not even forty. After pulling back the hood of his dark green cloak, Stephen Strange saw a long scar standing out on his forehead, darkened by sun and labor. "Are you looking for Kamar-Taj?" Seeing Stephen Strange do nothing but nod stupidly, the stranger asked again. At the same time, he pinned the thug's fingers beneath his shoe and displayed the pistol behind his cloak, warning them not to open their mouths. "If you are, tell me. In English."
As the adrenaline slowly faded, Stephen Strange's breathing gradually steadied.
Had this man been following him all along? Had he heard him asking about Kamar-Taj?
Before Stephen Strange could voice his doubts, the stranger simply walked away, leaving the wailing thugs behind. Stephen Strange glanced back. The thugs scrambled out of the alley without even stopping to retrieve their fallen daggers, not even thinking of tossing out a threat. Cradling his faintly aching arm, Stephen Strange followed the stranger through Kathmandu's winding streets for a long time. Throughout the journey, he kept trying to ask questions, but the stranger never answered a word—they passed many dilapidated temples and squeezed back into crowded streets. The stench of the poor and the streets had already become quite familiar to Stephen Strange. He even recognized this road. He had passed through it more than once over the past few days, and had even wandered around that square, spending the last of his money on local food before returning to his hotel with diarrhea.
At last, the stranger stopped beside a wooden door set into a brick wall.
"This is it? Are you sure you found the right place?" Stephen Strange asked. He looked back at the temple they had passed earlier. "That place looks more like... Kamar-Taj."