Just as Ronan himself had said, upon returning to Kamar-Taj, he didn't have much leisure time.
Compared to the petty squabbles of Steve Rogers and Tony Stark, Ronan's mission was clearly far more troublesome—most importantly, this disaster was an unknown.
An unknown time, an unknown place, even the omens heralding the disaster's arrival—they knew nothing about them.
So, Ronan had to find these things.
He wasn't about to die without knowing why.
Thus, he teamed up with Kamar-Taj's catalog of knowledge—Wong—to search for any clues about the Darkhold.
After spending a full half-day on the effort, they finally found what they were looking for.
Of course, Ronan was mostly just along for the ride.
Wong lived up to his title as Kamar-Taj's living library—his findings were impressively thorough.
And they let Ronan understand what the true Darkhold was.
The Darkhold, also known as the Book of the Dead, bore another name: The Scrolls of Chthon.
To trace the origins of the Darkhold, you'd have to go back billions of years.
Back then, Chthon—one of the Elder Gods who'd fallen into demonhood—to escape the devourer Galactus, was forced to flee to other dimensions.
Before his escape, Chthon inscribed all his vile deeds and spells onto an unbreakable sheet of parchment.
At the time, it was called The Scrolls of Chthon.
Later, those parchments were compiled into a book by a group of people, giving rise to what's now known as The Darkhold.
By leaving behind the Darkhold, Chthon aimed to maintain a channel on Earth to influence it and unleash his energy.
In other words, anyone who got their hands on the Darkhold and used it would become Chthon's slave.
Once upon a time, the Darkhold was the source of necromantic tomes like the Book of the Dead, and in the eyes of people from different nations and planets, the book would display different languages, ensuring the user could fully comprehend the spells within.
The Darkhold didn't just contain an array of incredibly powerful dark magic—its corrupting influence was profound too.
And the little imp within the Darkhold would guide people into using the spells recorded inside.
After the user became Chthon's slave, they'd gradually fall under his influence, step by step, until they ultimately turned into a creature of darkness.
After reading through these accounts of the Darkhold, Ronan couldn't help but let out a sigh.
Terrifying indeed.
Among these records, one entry shocked Ronan the most.
The Darkhold contained a particularly infamous spell known as the Montesi Formula.
It was an extraordinarily potent incantation that, once cast, could wipe out all vampires in a single stroke.
That's right—all vampires, regardless of their strength or weakness, whether purebred or human-vampire hybrids.
Every last one would be killed.
Perhaps that's why, in all the years Ronan had lived, he'd never seen a vampire.
Someone must have used this spell, wiping vampires out of this universe entirely.
Of course, the effect was supposedly "temporary."
Because if the spell were ever broken, the vampires killed by the Montesi Formula would rise again.
But this so-called "temporary" state required breaking the spell to resurrect the vampires.
If someone got hold of this book, unless they were the type to worship vampires to an obsessive, delusional degree, almost no one would be willing to break that spell.
The reason was simple—the book's power alone was enough to ensure success.
There was no need for vampires' help.
Even a sharp mind would realize that if those vampires were resurrected, they'd undoubtedly target the Darkhold's wielder first.
After all, possessing the Darkhold meant holding the power of life and death over the entire vampire race.
No species would tolerate that kind of situation.
So, over all these years, every user had tacitly agreed on one thing.
Vampires must never return.
Having learned the Darkhold's series of tales, the next question was a crucial one.
Namely…
Where exactly was the Darkhold?
"According to the records, a witch named Agatha Harkness once claimed she'd seen the book."
"But that was the only instance—later, after years of monitoring by Kamar-Taj, we found no signs of her using the Darkhold."
"So, we lifted the surveillance on her."
Wong dug up records from years past, and Ronan glanced at the "logbook."
Judging by its thickness, the section Wong flipped to was probably two or three hundred years old.
If these logbooks weren't preserved by magic, they'd likely have crumbled to dust long ago after all this time.
"Agatha Harkness."
That name was familiar to Ronan.
After all, in the 616 Universe, Scarlet Witch had killed Agatha Harkness in the end, absorbing her energy and finding a replica of the Darkhold in her possession.
That's right—Agatha Harkness had indeed seen the Darkhold and even copied its spells.
But what she held was merely a duplicate.
At that thought, Ronan couldn't help but sigh.
Though the replica and the original might contain roughly the same content, no one could guarantee whether Agatha Harkness had altered it over the years.
After all, Agatha Harkness was a formidable witch in her own right.
She'd survived from the Middle Ages to the present, suggesting she had unique longevity techniques—her strength was not to be underestimated.
A witch of that caliber—how could she not take precautions?
"Do you know where this Agatha Harkness lives?"
"Or rather, where her descendants are?"
Ronan looked at Wong.
Wong nodded, rummaging for a few minutes before finally stopping on a piece of paper.
"New Salem."
"Yes, that's the place."
Wong provided a specific location.
New Salem, huh?
Ronan had never been there—heck, he'd never even heard of it.
"Uh…"
"Where exactly is this place?"
Ronan couldn't help but ask.
Wong twitched his lips, giving Ronan a helpless look.
He didn't know either!
Ronan opened his mouth—without a destination, the Eye of Agamotto and the Space Stone were useless.
The only thing he could do was buy a train or plane ticket to New Salem.
Using the most basic method to get there.
—
For Ronan, it'd been years since he'd last flown on a plane.
Or rather, over the past decade or so, he'd mostly gotten wherever he wanted with a step—even for unknown places, asking someone else would usually get him there.
But now, this place could only be found on maps and Google, and hardly anyone knew of it.
So, once again, Ronan acted like an ordinary person, boarding a flight to New Salem with his ticket and ID in hand.
Of course, though he was flying, Ronan wasn't about to skimp on comfort.
Business class, naturally.
Massachusetts, northeast of Boston.
That's where New Salem was.
According to Google, the description of the place was just a few short sentences.
One of New England's oldest seaports.
Yup, that simple.
After landing in Boston, Ronan took the subway to a bus station, then transferred to a bus heading from Boston to New Salem.
This time, Ronan basically ran the gamut of the most common transportation methods used by Americans when traveling.
In just this one short day, Ronan felt more exhausted than he did after a full-on battle.
Good thing New York and Boston were both East Coast cities—if he'd had to cross the entire U.S. to the West Coast, a single day wouldn't have cut it.
By the time Ronan arrived in New Salem, the sky had gone completely dark.
For a small town with little commercial appeal, Ronan's options were limited.
He could only check into the one decent-looking hotel in town.
Say what you will—at least it was clean.
After checking in, Ronan headed to a pretty decent nearby bar.
It was one of the few entertainment spots in town, but also the busiest at night.
A lot of people assume that at night, America basically turns into a paradise for gang members and robbers.
That's not entirely wrong, but it's a bit one-sided.
In big cities like New York, gangs, robbers, and the like mostly come out at night—pure chaos.
But in a small town like this, nighttime safety was actually decent.
After all, in a place this small, you could walk from the east end to the west in an hour—maybe even less.
Everyone knew each other; though there were occasional spats, it rarely escalated to violence.
So, these small places often had better security.
The moment Ronan stepped into the bar, his senses picked up something off.
Because in this bar, he felt a trace of mystical energy.
This mystical energy was unlike anything he'd encountered, but it definitely belonged to the magic side.
Still, Ronan didn't let it show—he walked to the counter, ordered a rack of lamb and a drink, and sat down to eat.
This wasn't the kind of bar with blaring music—more like a "chill bar" vibe.
Men and women sang on stage, crooning soothing songs, while most of the patrons—men and women alike—sat around, chatting and sipping their drinks.
The bar's second floor had a few tables set up, where some folks were playing bridge, Texas Hold'em, and the like.
It wasn't exactly a casino, so the stakes weren't high.
Trying to fish for info from the crowd on the first floor wouldn't work.
So, Ronan shifted his gaze to the second floor.
After satisfying his hunger, Ronan slowly made his way up the stairs.
When he reached the second floor, a lot of eyes turned to him immediately.
As an outsider, Ronan had expected this.
Though America claimed to be all about inclusivity, in reality, that subtle exclusion was everywhere—you couldn't see it, but you could feel it.
Even between white folks, it was the same.
Ronan casually strolled over to a Texas Hold'em table and started watching.
But before he could observe for even a few minutes, a burly, bearded guy at the table spoke up.
"Outsider kid, not gonna try your luck?"
The bearded brute pegged Ronan as an out-of-towner with one glance.
"Hm?"
"How'd you know I'm not from around here?"
Ronan put on a surprised look, playing the part of a harmless newbie to a T.
The bearded brute just grinned, his eyes flicking to the empty chair.
The meaning was clear.
Play a couple hands, and I'll tell you.
Sure enough, that kind of taunt worked like a charm—Ronan took a seat at the table.
As he sat down, a waiter handling chip sales came over.
Ronan glanced at the chips on the others' tables—roughly two or three hundred bucks each. Looked like they weren't playing big.
So, Ronan pulled two hundred dollars from his wallet and exchanged it for chips.
Ronan knew that to get intel, he'd need to draw out the big fish.
He didn't want to end up a wanted man in America, so winning some cash was the best approach.
There were five people at the table, and with a new player joining, the dealer cracked open a fresh deck, flashing it to everyone.
Then, he dealt.
The two guys before Ronan each tossed in a symbolic ten bucks.
Ronan wasn't here for fun, though—he decided to go for a quick, decisive move.
"All in."
He shoved his entire stack of chips into the center.
His move startled everyone else at the table.
"F***!"
"Kid, didn't your folks ever teach you the rules of the game?"
The bearded brute, sitting right after Ronan, glared at him like he wanted to eat him alive.
Ronan just shrugged, crossing his arms over his lap.
"I've never heard of needing rules to play cards."
"What, you can't go all-in in Texas Hold'em around here?"
Ronan grinned at the bearded brute.
The guy was momentarily speechless.
His comment had obviously been meant to get Ronan to play by the rules.
But Ronan flat-out ignored him, brushing off that annoyed glare like it was nothing.
So, the bearded brute could only shoot him a nasty look before reluctantly tossing his cards away.
The others followed suit, ditching their hands too.
Two hundred bucks was a hefty sum for folks in a small place like this.
Going all-in against Ronan? They'd have to be nuts to call.
But what they never could've imagined was that their nightmare was just beginning.
Because for every hand that followed, no matter what cards Ronan got, whenever it was his turn to bet, he only did one thing.
Pushed his chips to the middle.
One time, he didn't even look at his hole cards.
Finally, after about three rounds, the bearded brute was the first to snap.
When Ronan shoved his chips into the "pot" again, the guy slammed his cards down with both hands and pushed his own stack in.
"Kid, I wanna see just how the hell you've got the guts for this!"