American comics: From Hogwarts to God on Earth

Chapter 614 Entering the Battle Realm

After being reminded by Steve, Rune didn't even have time to say anything before he immediately opened a portal and returned to the main Marvel Universe. To his surprise, the Battle Realm had already been born in such a short time.

No, it's not just about its birth; the Battle Realm seems to have existed for a long time. Although somewhat surprising, Rune could understand it.

The Marvel multiverse has essentially died once, and the predetermined, unchangeable absolute point in time has disappeared. Doom can easily accelerate time using his power beyond that of the gods.

Unlike Earth, the surface of the Battle Realm has less seawater. In the south, there is a huge wall that runs through the entire world, separating Antarctica from the rest of the world—the southernmost world is filled with all kinds of terrifying creatures, including zombies, Ultron, and the Annihilation Zerg.

Doom had absolutely no need to drag these terrifying monsters into the battle realm, yet he did it anyway. Therefore, Rune guessed that these monsters served as executioners, used to punish those who dared to offend the divine authority.

However, Rune is currently in a desert, so desolate that even the radiance of the god-king Doom is unwilling to be bestowed upon it.

The blazing sun in the clear sky reigns supreme over this land. It bakes the leaden sky until it becomes brittle, not even a wisp of cloud lingers. The sunlight, like molten iron, pours down relentlessly, baking the cracked red earth with a scorching heat.

Fortunately, there was still a simple dirt road, which proved to some extent that people still lived here in this harsh natural environment, but Rune still lamented his bad luck.

In the past, he had been teleported to major cities like New York or to places near protagonists or supporting characters who were of interest to higher-dimensional beings. But this time, he landed randomly in the middle of nowhere.

Rune casually transformed a pile of gravel by the roadside into several lizards, letting them explore their surroundings on their own.

If necessary, Rune could certainly release his magic directly to explore everything around him in the simplest yet most conspicuous way, but that would be too ostentatious.

He had not forgotten the words of that dark lord: when the Forsaken invade, they often first cultivate traitors among the natives.

The Battle Realm is full of hidden talents, and even in this remote corner, Rune cannot guarantee that it is safe.

To invade a world like Battlegrounds, which gathers the essence of the entire Marvel multiverse, the Forsaken's military strength would be enormous. Furthermore, considering they might have some native inhabitants who have succumbed to the Forsaken's tyranny serving as servants—

Even if Deathstroke of Earth-3 were willing to bring everyone in his universe to fight, it would likely be a drop in the ocean.

Therefore, Rune was very clear about the role he would play. He had to hide among ordinary people or soldiers and use his power at crucial moments to behead important enemy figures. That was what he always did.

To avoid alerting the enemy, the shapeshifting spell, which is quiet, flexible, and stealthy, came in handy. The lizards began to run wildly around, transmitting everything they saw to Rune's eyes.

Soon, one of the lizards delivered a useful piece of information to Rune's eyes.

At the end of this dirt road, there was a dilapidated post station. A faded red and white striped awning hung limply from the eaves, its edges gnawed by wind and sand. A rusty tin sign swayed in the wind, barely revealing the outline of the word "tavern".

Rune waited quietly for a while, until the other lizards had no choice but to take a step.

That tavern was his next destination.

Squeak—

The tavern's wooden door was pushed open, and a scorching hot wind, carrying sand and dust, swept into the cool hall, startling the flies in the corners into a buzzing scattering. The people drinking there stopped their noise and cast unfriendly glances at the newcomer.

He was an old man with a hunched back. He wore a faded denim jacket with frayed edges, and the brim of his wide-brimmed hat was pulled down very low, covering most of his face. What was most striking was his swollen and deformed knuckles, as if he had been holding heavy objects for many years.

Seeing this, those people finally stopped looking at him.

They'd seen countless old things like this. In their youth, they'd believed the rumors of gold here and brought their families, only to find they'd dug up hardly a grain of gold in their old age. Their only source of pride, perhaps, was their exceptional marksmanship.

Look, that old man has a gun holster on his waist!

-

The old man walked with a faltering gait, each step heavy with weariness. He went straight to the bar and sat heavily on the wooden chair, which immediately creaked under the weight.

"A glass of whiskey, please." The old man's voice was hoarse, as if it had been sanded, and carried an unyielding weariness.

The bartender paused while wiping the glasses, glanced at him, and then deftly took a bottle of whiskey from the liquor cabinet, poured a full glass of amber liquid, and pushed it in front of him.

This old man is a regular here.

He had just taken a few sips of his wine and was complaining about why there was no ice when the door to the inn was pushed open again.

The people who came in this time were completely out of place with the harshness of this wilderness, as if they had walked out of the Garden of Eden and mistakenly entered this purgatory.

He was a rather young and handsome man, looking no more than twenty years old. He was tall and slender, and his black robe shimmered with an indescribable light. He wasn't even wearing a hat, and his long, smooth, black hair was casually draped over his shoulders.

After observing for a moment, the men drinking stopped talking, lowered their heads and looked at their glasses, not daring to make any rash moves.

Those who survive in this desert are no pushovers; they know who to mess with and who not to mess with.

For example, the old man. They didn't kill him simply because he was probably a good shot and didn't have much money on him, so it wasn't worth arguing with him.

As for why I knew he had no money—

Nonsense, the rich have already escaped this desert. According to those who returned home in glory, the outside world is wonderful, with flying iron birds and running iron boxes, so there's no need for horses or donkeys to travel, and all sorts of fun and delicious things to do.

But this young man in front of me is different; he's a truly ruthless character.

Look, this young man isn't wearing a hat, but his skin is deathly pale, as if he's never been exposed to sunlight. Exploring this desolate desert without any packing, his steps are as light as the wind, leaving not a speck of dust in his wake.

Most importantly, when he pushed the door open, the hot air outside didn't even dare to enter the hall!

Without a doubt, this is a powerful individual with superpowers. He might be some kind of mutant, or even a sorcerer, but whatever the case, he is someone these cowboys cannot afford to mess with.

The young man ignored the reactions of others. He walked straight to the other end of the bar, stood three chairs away from the hunched old man, and stared at him with surprise before looking at the bartender a few seconds later.

"A glass of water."

The bartender hesitated for a moment, looking at his fine clothes and handsome face, then at the old man at the other end of the bar, before finally pouring him a glass of water and handing it over.

Are you crazy? You went into a bar just to order a glass of water?