Manager of the Continental Hotel

The receptionist with Sherlock's Spear of Longinus pressed to her throat felt the icy touch of the spear against her neck and the cold killing intent radiating from the man before her. Her legs went weak.

She even had the feeling that if her next words failed to satisfy this troublemaker, the spear would pierce her throat without the slightest hesitation.

At this moment, the Continental Hotel's rules could no longer serve as her shield.

The Continental Hotel did indeed forbid any use of force within its premises, but that rule applied only to its members. For a superhuman like Sherlock, even if he truly acted, the Continental Hotel would merely issue a symbolic kill order and call it a day.

After all, assassins were not fools. No one wanted to truly go up against superhumans, which was why those so-called kill orders against them were simply ignored.

Just as the receptionist broke out in a cold sweat while trying to figure out how to placate the man before her, a woman's voice cut into their confrontation.

"Mr. Sherlock the Impaler, please calm down. The Continental Hotel forbids the use of force."

Hearing that voice, Sherlock looked in its direction and saw an elderly woman dressed like an aristocratic lady standing elegantly at the elevator entrance. The elevator behind her had just closed, making it obvious that she had hurried over to defuse the situation.

But what the hell was "the Impaler"?

Sherlock's mind was full of question marks. He scorned these people's ability to come up with nicknames, while completely ignoring the fact that he had extensively cosplayed the Impaler in the Middle East.

Seeing Sherlock look over, the old woman smiled faintly and continued, "I am Laura Austin, manager of the Los Angeles Continental Hotel."

As she introduced herself, a chilling smile finally appeared on Sherlock's formerly furious face. He withdrew the spear from the receptionist's throat and casually spun it.

As the spearhead in Sherlock's hand swept past where the bar counter had been, the counter—which had already turned to ashes and vanished—returned to its original state in the blink of an eye.

It was not only the counter itself. Even the keys stored within it and the computer on top of it were restored in an instant.

If the data inside the computer had not disappeared, nearly everyone would have believed that Sherlock making the counter vanish had merely been a collective hallucination.

This scene successfully made everyone present who had witnessed the entire incident quietly suck in a breath of cold air, silently adding Sherlock's name to their list of people not to provoke.

Sherlock himself did not care what these assassins and information brokers thought. After restoring the counter, he glanced at the receptionist, then tossed the spear in his hand. It automatically floated behind him and followed as he walked toward Laura Austin.

If Sherlock's earlier "performance" of destroying the counter and restoring it could still be explained away as an illusion, then the spear now floating steadily behind his back proclaimed to everyone that Sherlock was no ordinary man.

As Sherlock approached her, Laura Austin instinctively recalled the horrific state of the Ten Rings' desert base. Yet years of composure allowed her to maintain a proper smile despite the fear in her heart. "Mr. Sherlock, please come with me. Let us talk in the reception room."

With that, she turned and walked toward the elevator, waiting inside for Sherlock.

Sherlock did not refuse. He simply followed Manager Laura into the elevator without a care.

Before long, Laura brought Sherlock to the top floor of the Los Angeles Continental Hotel. In a suite containing an office, reception room, and bedroom, Laura gracefully invited Sherlock to sit down before taking the manager's seat.

"Would you like something to drink, Mr. Sherlock?"

Faced with the old woman's politeness, Sherlock maintained his cold persona. "No need. You and I both know I did not come here for pleasantries."

Hearing this, Laura felt slightly relieved. It meant Sherlock had not come here to cause trouble for no reason.

In other words, there was still room for negotiation! As long as they could negotiate, Laura did not think this was such a major matter.

"Then please be direct, Mr. Sherlock. What exactly brings you to my hotel?"

Hearing Laura's straightforward question, Sherlock had no intention of wasting more time. He casually pulled out the documents Coulson had given him and tossed them onto the coffee table before them.

The instant Laura saw the large eagle emblem on the cover of the documents Sherlock had thrown out, her pupils contracted sharply.

Clearly, as part of the Continental Hotel's management, Laura knew what S.H.I.E.L.D. represented.

At least for now, an official organization like S.H.I.E.L.D. was unquestionably the most militarily formidable organization in the entire world. After all, behind S.H.I.E.L.D., at least in theory, stood the five most powerful nations on Earth.

Sherlock said nothing. After throwing out the documents, he stared unblinkingly at Laura.

Seeing Sherlock's expression, Laura was extremely unwilling, but she still picked up the documents belonging to S.H.I.E.L.D.

Yet the instant she opened them, Laura's expression changed dramatically. The dignified, luxurious smile on her face could no longer be maintained, replaced only by shock and disbelief.

The reason was simple. The first page of the documents was an assignment list the Continental Hotel had once used to receive and distribute contracts before computers existed!

And where the client's name on that list should have been blacked out, a name was now written in plain sight—one that made Laura shudder.

Obadiah Stane!

What terrified Laura even more were the target names on that contract.

Annie Flamel and Nick Flamel!

And those two names clearly could not be unrelated to the Sherlock Flamel standing before her!