Ch.46 Celebration Fireworks?

"Who is responsible for this!"

Watching Strange rush out without a word, Ronan gave him a silent nod of approval. As always, if there's a wall, he'll hit it, and if there's something to do, he'll be the first to act.

But Ronan wasn't slow either. He quickly followed in Strange's footsteps, because when it came to watching drama, he was a professional.

In the hall of the New York Sanctum, several sorcerers had already gathered. They were all holding the Raggadorr Rings, as if something terrible had happened.

In the middle of the hall, there lay a missile, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from it.

"Is this... celebration fireworks?" Ronan muttered, his expression turning strange as he glanced from the missile to the ceiling, where a beam of light was now shining through a newly made hole.

He didn't recognize the missile's model, but the "Stark Industries" logo printed on it was hard to miss.

Without a doubt, this was one of the weapons produced by Tony Stark and his team.

"What's going on?" Strange frowned. A missile lying in the middle of the hall without exploding? Anyone would be confused.

"We don't know. It was like this when we arrived," one of the sorcerers answered, shaking his head, just as puzzled. After all, they were sorcerers but still mortal. A live missile dropping into the sanctum without exploding was a stroke of luck—an explosion would have wiped them out.

"Don't touch it!" Ronan called out just as one sorcerer was about to reach for the missile. He exchanged a glance with Strange, and both nodded in understanding.

"Call Tony. This is his mess, and he needs to deal with it."

Half an hour later...

Tony Stark stood in front of the missile, carefully inspecting it. His glasses scanned the missile from top to bottom.

"From the exterior, this is definitely one of the older Stark Industries weapons," Tony said, "but the inside has been modified."

"A dud like this wouldn't have been made by us."

Tony shook his head and snorted, unimpressed by the missile's craftsmanship.

"If it didn't explode, it should still be stuck in the roof, not sitting here on the floor," Strange added, pointing to the ceiling with a frustrated look on his face. Why did these things keep happening under his watch as the Sorcerer Supreme? Even during Wong's tenure, everything had been peaceful. This felt like a direct challenge!

"I noticed," Tony replied. "During the scan, I detected that the missile's outer layer had been reinforced with a special material, making it tough."

"But because of the modifications, it didn't explode. In other words, you're all incredibly lucky." Tony glanced at the surrounding sorcerers. This kind of malfunction was rare—there might only be one modified missile like this in the world, and it just so happened not to explode.

"Then what do we do now?" a sorcerer asked.

Tony shrugged. "Two options. One, we take it to an empty space, and I'll try to set it off. Two, we analyze the modifications and see if we can trace it back to whoever made these changes."

"Because let's be honest, you don't really believe this missile just accidentally fell in here, do you?" Tony turned to Strange.

Strange frowned. It wasn't Tony's suggestions that bothered him—it was his tone. It reminded him of someone else, someone annoyingly familiar.

Meanwhile, Ronan sat leisurely in a chair, enjoying a piece of cake. The pastry was a gift from Tony, or rather Pepper Stark, as thanks for Ronan saving everyone's lives.

"Tsk, tsk, Tony, you're sounding more sarcastic every day. Aren't you afraid someone's going to punch you in the face with that attitude?" Ronan teased after swallowing a bite of cake. "If I were Strange, I'd show you what a real magical smackdown feels like."

Strange sighed and ignored Ronan's instigations. He knew exactly whose speech pattern Tony was mimicking—it was the guy eating cake.

"Need help?" Strange asked, deciding to bypass Ronan's provocation.

"Yeah," Tony replied. "I need a couple of steady hands to move this thing. And I do mean steady—no shaking hands, or it might just go off."

Strange looked around at the sorcerers, but they were all novices with limited abilities. Wong was still in the London Sanctum, so there was only one person left who could help.

Strange turned his gaze to Ronan.

Noticing the look, Ronan paused mid-bite. "What? Why are you looking at me? My hands are shaking! Unless you're offering something in return, my hands are going to keep shaking!"

Ronan knew exactly what Strange wanted and wasn't about to do it for free.

Strange sighed. "Fine. What will it take for your hands to stop shaking?"

Ronan smirked. "Just a small favor. Nothing too difficult."

Although Ronan made it sound simple, Strange had a feeling this small favor wouldn't be as easy as Ronan claimed. But at this point, he had no choice.

"Just a small favor?" Strange asked, double-checking.

Ronan nodded with a grin, showing off his right hand, which was steady as a rock.

Strange sighed heavily and nodded reluctantly, accepting that he was now stuck on Ronan's metaphorical pirate ship. There would be no getting off anytime soon.