Chapter Eighteen: The Lich King Prepares a Secret Weapon

Coulson had no idea how he managed to walk out of the antique shop.

He only felt his mind slip into a momentary haze—when his thoughts returned, he found himself standing outside the door.

He glanced at Melinda, noticing her face was pale as if she had witnessed some unspeakable horror. Though he hadn’t experienced the process himself, it was clear the shopkeeper had done something to Melinda.

After tagging his target with a label for psychic abilities in his mind, Coulson raised his danger assessment of Roald to a higher level.

Moreover, his instincts as an agent told him that the mysterious knight who appeared in Afghanistan, cloaked in blue frost, was undoubtedly connected to this shopkeeper.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough evidence.

“Talk to me, Coulson—what happened to you?” Melinda stared at him. Since they’d stepped out of the shop, he had remained dazed, and the fear lingering in his eyes during that brief confusion gave her the unsettling feeling of having passed through another world.

“Don’t worry, Melinda. I’m just thinking about a few things,” Coulson shook his head, assuring her he was fine, though his hand trembled as he fished out a cigarette and lit it, only realizing he’d placed it backwards in his mouth.

“I’ve recently grown fond of this feeling—it helps me think calmly. Really, Melinda,” Coulson shrugged, “when we get back to HQ, I think we’ll both need to see a psychologist.”

Melinda’s hand rested on her sidearm, her fingers twitching as she hesitated between speaking and silence. She still couldn’t make sense of what had just transpired and couldn’t help but complain, “You should have told me more about this shop beforehand.”

“Come on, let’s talk in the car. This isn’t the place,” Coulson glanced at the antique shop’s door as if it were a yawning abyss, then strode quickly toward the street corner.

“This place is strange. I suspect the shopkeeper possesses some power akin to that of a wizard.”

“Mystical powers? Are you serious?”

Melinda found it almost unbelievable.

She nodded slightly, her expression growing serious as she thought it over. “Hogwarts? Is he a graduate who rides a broomstick after receiving an owl’s letter?”

“Melinda, you certainly have an imagination. Didn’t you sense it just now? The source of that power is strong, cold, and utterly mysterious—not something the two of us could challenge with our little handguns.”

As he opened the car door, Coulson continued, “Besides, I suspect he’s part of a new secret organization backed by powerful forces. Maybe you’re right—maybe he really is a member of Hogwarts, or perhaps something even more mysterious.”

“Though we can’t be sure yet, we could start by searching for the train station’s entrance.”

After a moment’s thought, Coulson spoke earnestly, “By the way, aside from investigating these mystical wizard factions, do you think Hogwarts could really exist?”

Melinda was speechless, squinting at him for a long while without answering.

“All right, Melinda, I admit it—I’m just a bit jumpy,” Coulson said, spreading his hands in resignation. “Maybe I’ve just been too busy lately, and the stress is getting to me.”

“You need to calm down, Coulson,” Melinda said softly. “Even if there’s some secret force behind him, don’t forget—we’re in New York. This is our home turf.”

Coulson took a deep breath. He felt Melinda still didn’t grasp the gravity of the situation—perhaps she thought Roald was merely a mutant with some psychic control.

“You might not realize... I’d already encountered the target before you did.”

His heart tightened as he spoke, swallowing nervously.

“The frost he wields is closely tied to the frost on that knight from Afghanistan. You know Barton—our little elf prince?”

“Elven prince?” Melinda’s expression was odd. “What about him?”

“Three hundred meters away, he took the shot—and was instantly subdued and captured. Nothing more to say. The target we just spoke with didn’t even move his feet. As a result, we paid him a million dollars in compensation.”

“Can you imagine the Director’s face when he handed over the money?”

Coulson exaggerated his expression.

“I still savor the joy of that moment!” His smile was faintly mocking. “From the footage of that knight, it’s clear—the real threat isn’t those who use guns and technology. Science follows predictable rules, but magic and such things, forever hidden from the world, are the true danger...”

All human fear stems from the unknown and a lack of firepower.

Melinda nodded. “So you’re saying that our current target could be a mysterious force or figure lost in the flow of history? That’s pretty cool. I feel like I’ve received an owl’s letter and returned to my student days—like the gates to a new world are opening before me.”

Coulson shook his head gently, gazing into Melinda’s eyes.

“Believe me, you wouldn’t want to meet him. If you do, don’t think of running—drop to your knees immediately, or raise your hands. Actually, hugging your head and crouching is the best course, and pray the other side recognizes the international sign for surrender.”

“Will that work?” Melinda felt Coulson was exaggerating.

“It won’t—but it might show we mean no harm, and at least we’ll die with a bit of dignity.”

Melinda: “......”

At a loss for words, she also felt relieved—Coulson’s joking meant he’d recovered, and she wouldn’t need to provide any physical or psychological support.

The two mysterious figures they spoke of, the shadowy boss, the broomstick graduate from Hogwarts, was at this moment returning to the basement, preparing to print cards.

Roald’s face was alight with excitement.

He hoped this time he’d get Sylvanas’ reins.

He wished to draw the Queen of the Night and ascend to the peak of life.

Erica had already brought over the blood samples from Osborn. The box on the laboratory table was filled with various blood reagents. These mutant samples contained a range of traits, and Roald was ready—about to expand his Scourge army with new members.

Today was the day to turn the tables!

The familiar routine followed: first a cleansing bath, then washing his hands three times in succession.

Whether it helped or not, the rituals of life must be honored.

Drawing cards was already exhilarating; printing his own cards was even more delightful. No one could resist the allure of golden legends—especially when it meant strengthening his own power. Not even the Lich King could refuse such joy.

There were powerful bonus cards, mysterious spells, and weapons among them.

The “Lich King” character card had the special trait of producing a Death Knight card for the deck every day.

Death Knight was a broad category—the deck’s Death Knight cards were random.

But randomness brought surprises.

[True King]

[Trait: Gain 100 armor points.]

[Description: Your full-force attacks only reduce my armor by one. With this, you could take a nuke to the face.]

Roald took out the card he engraved daily as a base, deciding to print ten that he could use himself.

This card only required one soul energy to maintain, making it extremely cost-effective.

And there was a control card.

[Shut Up, Priest]