Including Ward, Harold let him try as well.
But he, too, couldn't move Mjolnir even an inch.
This discovery left Harold deeply disappointed, yet it also confirmed his belief that the hammer was indeed a powerful artifact.
Unfortunately, despite extensive research, he failed to uncover any concrete information. Ward had already vomited three times due to the overwhelming stench of blood. But Harold, though drenched in it, didn't even flinch.
After all, in his eyes, aside from himself, human life held no value.
So what if these people died?
As long as he achieved his goal, he wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice even Ward.
Just like this time.
Why hadn't he used his own name to issue the mission to Blaine?
It wasn't because he feared the Hand discovering him—if that were the case, he wouldn't have issued the mission at all.
The real reason was simple: he wanted to shift the blame onto Ward.
To the outside world, Harold was already dead.
He didn't believe a mere Bounty Hunter could know he was still alive—unless they were associated with the Hand, which was clearly impossible.
Based on that, he had Ward release the mission and never intended to pay.
He was playing a game of smoke and mirrors. Even if the Bounty Hunter suspected someone was behind it all, so what? Other than the Hand and Ward, no one knew Harold was alive.
The Bounty Hunter would never think of him—Harold Meacham.
If anyone sought revenge, they'd go after Ward Meacham.
After some investigation, Harold chose to leave.
This was a Hand-controlled factory. Although Madam Gao typically shipped goods every two days, lingering in such a place for too long would risk exposing his intentions.
Though displeased, he quickly returned to his secret apartment.
And remained there until now.
Harold knew he could not lift the hammer.
But that didn't mean the plan had failed.
The Hand had already discovered the slaughter at the factory—supposedly, Madam Gao had found out during one of her inspections. But Harold wasn't concerned. As long as the Hand discovered it, it served his purpose.
What's more, he'd already learned from Ward that the Hand planned to investigate.
Eventually, they would find the person responsible for wiping out the factory's personnel.
When that happened...
The Bounty Hunter would inevitably clash with the Hand.
If the Bounty Hunter was as powerful as rumored, the Hand would be forced into a corner.
Especially Madam Gao, who oversaw the New York operations—she'd be the first to face the threat and would have to deal with it personally.
As the saying goes:
When the snipe and the clam fight, the fisherman profits.
Harold planned to be that fisherman.
While Madam Gao was preoccupied, he would seize the opportunity to reclaim Rand Corporation, and then approach S.H.I.E.L.D. with secrets about the Hand's past, hoping to gain their protection.
Even if the Bounty Hunter wasn't that powerful and ended up killed by the Hand, it didn't matter.
The Bounty Hunter wouldn't know Harold's name. At most, he'd mention Ward.
Ward was Harold's scapegoat—ignorant of the factory's true nature, and the Hand believed he was just as clueless.
People would assume Ward's mission was merely about storing something in the dock warehouse rented by his company.
Even if suspicion pointed toward Harold, there would be no evidence. He could still deny everything and live in peace.
Whether Ward died in the clash between the Bounty Hunter and the Hand was of no concern to him.
Let him die.
In this plan, Ward was nothing more than a disposable pawn. His death might seem unfortunate—but it was always part of the plan.
Because Ward was Harold's backup.
No matter the outcome, Harold had nothing to lose.
At worst, things would remain the same.
Of course, if he had to choose, he'd prefer the former outcome.
After all, S.H.I.E.L.D. was far better than the Hand, right?
If everything went well, maybe he could finally walk in the light again—rather than hide in this wretched apartment for over a decade.
He downed the vodka in his glass.
Then casually placed the glass down, tapped the table lightly, and sneered.
"The Hand?"
"Bounty Hunter?"
"Terrifying dark forces?"
"Superheroes who save the world?"
"Aren't all of you just being played by me like pawns in a game?"
Harold was immensely proud.
He relished the feeling of manipulating these powerful figures like puppets, watching them clash while remaining completely unaware of the real puppeteer.
So what if the Hand existed? So what if there were Bounty Hunters?
Even if the world had supernatural powers—
They were still being toyed with by a so-called 'ordinary man' like him.
Harold looked at his own reflection in the glass, imagining the future battle between the Hand and the Bounty Hunter.
Blood flowing like rivers…
Mountains of corpses…
Oceans of blood…
And all of it… was because of him.
"Because I started the war!"
"Innocent lives will be lost! The ocean will run red with blood!"
Harold laughed maniacally, smugness etched across his face.
He didn't care what would happen to Ward, now caught in this war.
Once, he had some affection for his son.
But now?
To him, Ward was just a tool—replaceable and expendable.
Since his resurrection, Harold's already dark heart had grown even more twisted, consumed by corruption.
Distorted thoughts plagued him constantly.
But instead of resisting, he embraced them.
He welcomed the fall into darkness.
He was arrogant, and proud of it, never believing he'd be caught.
"The three-day deadline is over."
"The head on your neck will fall as a warning to others."
Suddenly—amidst his maniacal laughter—
A cold, hostile voice echoed through the apartment.
It sounded like something from the depths of hell.
Even hearing it made the air reek of blood.
Harold's laughter was abruptly cut short.
Like a duck being strangled mid-quack, he froze.
His face turned red as he stood up in alarm, looking around.
"Who's there?!"
*************************************
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