Chapter 4814

Obviously, in the past few decades, East Hampton's upper class once had a secret history of tycoons gathering and clouds shifting. It may not be Succession, but it had to be The Great Gatsby. And Stark didn't play a good role in it; he was mostly the kind of rebellious yet especially smart kid who embodied both positive and negative examples—someone else's child.

"So you're back to mock them," Coulson said bluntly, "using the Christmas banquet as an excuse to despise them thoroughly, to regain face for the bullying you suffered in the past?"

"First of all, they never successfully bullied me," Stark said, rolling his eyes. "Those idiots were so stupid it made one's hair stand on end; their methods of ostracizing others were just the same few tricks over and over. Once I figured them out, they couldn't think of any creative new approaches. In the end, all they could do was badmouth me behind my back. I've long since settled any scores."

"Secondly, who said I'm hosting a Christmas banquet here? Tying everyone down at the table, serving a bunch of inedible dishes, reciting boring prayers I never bothered to memorize. Oh God, if that's what it is, I'd rather Jesus had never been born!"

Natasha and Coulson exchanged another glance, then Natasha gave Greed a look that meant, "See, I told you so."

"Back then, Howard never had me pinned down at the dinner table like this. How could I possibly treat little Morgan this way? Christmas Eve should be everyone gathering comfortably together, not forcing these formalities." Stark clearly disliked this approach, his tone dripping with undisguised mockery.

"Besides, these things should be handled by the lady of the house. Pepper's been exhausted all year; she's worried herself sick over things I can't help with. The Christmas holiday should be her time to truly relax—how could I make her do this again?"

"Then why don't you do it?" Natasha said, clearly not understanding.

"If I did, Pepper might be mocked by the guests," Greed explained. "In this circle, hosting banquets is the hostess's prerogative. If her husband doesn't support her or outright refuses to let her host, she'll be laughed at by the other ladies."

"That's insane," Natasha said bluntly. "What kind of power is it to do this boring, thankless work?"

"So I say this place is basically a giant asylum," Greed said, spreading his hands. "Everyone has their assigned role, and everyone must live within those roles. Social division is stuck in the 17th century, family atmosphere in the 18th—just so they can appear as ancient aristocracy. But actually, even if you count their family histories from the old world, you can't find a trace of nobility."

Natasha roughly imagined it and said to Stark: "No wonder you don't like this place—it's like a Bolshevik looking at the Romanov family."

"Even more than that," Stark said. "Those people called me a freak who only drums up trash in the basement, and it's exactly that freak, using that trash, who built today's Stark Industries."

"Honestly, I think you should host a Christmas banquet," Greed encouraged. "I really want to see their expressions."

"Oh come on," Stark replied, unwilling. "You can totally imagine what they'd do. They'd see this banquet as your compromise, then completely ignore current affairs, clinging to old traditions to lecture you, nitpicking at the banquet, pointing out where you fall short of their rules, demanding you worship their way. Just thinking about it makes me nauseous."

"Fine," Greed said, not pushing further, then asked, "So what do you want me to do?"

"You're not house-hunting?" Stark said. "There's a very nice estate for sale here. I'm planning to take you to see it."

"You've got it wrong?" Greed said, speechless. "You know full well everyone here is mentally ill, and you still want me to buy a house here?"

"But aren't you a psychiatrist?" Stark said confidently. "Someone like me with anxiety disorder is just pediatric stuff. If you could cure these people, that'd really show your medical skill."

"You just want revenge on them," Natasha couldn't help but say. "Because you dislike them so much, you're letting Shiler buy a house here to live permanently. Even though they sound hateful, I still have to say..."

"No, you'd better not say that," Stark interrupted her. "Please believe they deserve it."

Natasha wanted to speak, but Stark said: "Nick certainly won't oppose this proposal, since he knows many aliens have already chosen to settle on Long Island. Me and Shiler coming back here lets us keep an eye on them."

As expected, Natasha and Coulson fell silent. Greed frowned slightly and said: "Aliens buying houses on Long Island?"

"Yes, and competition is quite fierce," Stark said. "The estate's owner and I have some history, so he agreed to prioritize selling it to me. Otherwise, it would definitely have been bought by some interstellar council member—probably a noble from the Shi'ar Empire."

Greed seemed hesitant. He said: "Let's go see the house first."

So they got in the car and headed toward the house. Though said to be in the same area, it's actually not in the same county—many streets in East Hampton are named after British counties to display aristocratic airs—this house is closer to the sea but on the opposite side of the coastline, facing Stark Manor across the bay.

When the car stopped, Greed was stunned. He stood at the doorway, looking at the manor and said: "My goodness, how is this different from Viscount Manor?"

The Viscount Manor he referred to is the large manor where Arrogant once stayed in Gotham, now converted into the Gotham Young Avengers' activity base.

The manor before them is indeed a typical English manor, so it looks somewhat like Viscount Manor, but it's actually somewhat more modern. Besides the pointed roofs and towers retaining some English style, the exterior lines are less complex, more simple and elegant.

The overall exterior walls are light gray, the roof dark brown, both with relatively low saturation, appearing somewhat deep, yet echoing the distant deep blue bay, giving a feeling of abundant autumn.

"This really isn't a vampire's residence, is it?" Natasha questioned spiritually. "It's the 21st century—can you still see houses like this?"

"Uh..." Stark glanced left and right.

Soon the door was opened from inside, and the person who came out surprised everyone.

"Hello, I'm Dracula," the approaching man said, with a head of white hair, dark skin, and eyes flashing with faint blood-red.

Natasha immediately frowned, knowing Dracula had once led the vampires' second invasion of New York, Matt was severely injured by him, and superheroes had repeatedly hunted him. But this guy is basically immortal—no matter what, he can't be killed, so in the end they could only seal him.

But actually, the seal didn't solve the problem, because the sealing power will inevitably dissipate. Not long after, Dracula will return to the human world, though no one expected it to happen this soon.

"Don't misunderstand," Dracula said, tightening his cloak, then added, "I'm not here to fight you, and you can't kill me anyway, so don't waste your effort."

"Your clan has already been wiped out," Greed pointed out.

"I don't care about them," Dracula said, curling his lip. "Do you want to buy the house or not? If yes, come inside."

Greed opened his mouth. This house looks old, but if Dracula lives here, it seems too modern. As he followed Dracula inside, he said: "Where's your Dracula Castle?"

"This is just my residence in the United States," Dracula said. "I've already approached Iron Man, but I didn't expect that the token to get him to agree to negotiate terms would actually be just this house."

"What terms do you want to discuss?" Greed narrowed his eyes.

"Please sit," Dracula said, leading them into the hall and asking them to sit down. Entering the hall, the sense of déjà vu grew stronger. This dim lighting, this luxurious decoration, this gloomy atmosphere—if a Gotham cold rain didn't come from outside, it would be unworthy of this decor.

Clearly this house is on the coastline and the weather is fairly clear, but once inside, one feels drowsy and heavy—truly befitting a vampire's lair.

"I want to immigrate," Dracula said. "I want to go to the Shi'ar Empire. Can you help me?"

"Why would you go there?" Greed said, utterly confused.

"I need their blood," Dracula said. "They are descendants of gods, and their bloodline has special power."

"You want to use these powers to strengthen yourself?"

"No, just because it tastes good," Dracula said. "I've grown tired of human blood and urgently need new stimulation."

"Then why not go suck the blood of the Aesir?"

After Greed asked that, he almost wanted to laugh. Dracula seemed too lazy to answer such a stupid question, saying: "The Raptor Tribe are good prey. Even if I just went there on vacation, I probably wouldn't return for nearly a thousand years. That's good for you too, isn't it?"

"That's true," Greed said. "And your payment would be this house?"

"Of course not free," Dracula said. "In the Shi'ar Empire, I also need money. You just need to give me some universal interstellar currency equivalent to the house's value."

"So it's still spending money to buy it?"

"Yes. But I can give you a discount. Those willing to help me immigrate and spend money aren't few—I just don't want those alien barbarians messing this place up."

Greed pondered. Actually, the house is secondary; being able to dump Dracula into the Shi'ar Empire would be a huge deal.

Dracula's destructive power isn't actually strong, because his intelligence and abilities aren't particularly high; his most heaven-defying ability is his immortality, which even Marvel's Death Goddess cannot shake. But with only that ability, he's roughly equivalent to a large sandbag. In fact, over these many years, he's done nothing noteworthy—the New York invasion was all thunder and little rain, ending with him fleeing in defeat.

But that's against humans. Earth has many experts with rich experience, so Dracula naturally can't stir up trouble. But if this unkillable cockroach were thrown into the heart of the three great empires, to them it would be a major headache.

Dracula is a villain who fundamentally cannot be reformed—he won't become an anti-hero, nor will he obediently work. So rather than keep him here, better to toss him out to plague others.

"Alright," Greed said, nodding. "We accept your proposal. Now let's discuss the specific price. Humanity's universal currency reserves aren't large either, so you'd better not ask for too much."