MASTER OF MARVEL WORLD

Tony Stark had finally recovered a relic from his father—a relic that had been hidden away for years—and now, with that ancient treasure in his grasp, he was on the cusp of obtaining the legendary Dragon Slaying Sword. This formidable weapon, as lore had it, could dominate both the rivers and the lakes, and in the wrong hands, it could change the course of battles. For Tony, this was a chance to consolidate his legacy and push the boundaries of his technological genius.

Meanwhile, on the darker side of the spectrum, the notorious villain Ivan Vanke found himself in a state of utter despair. His plans for revenge had cost him every penny he possessed. After years of scrimping and scraping, of pouring his heart and soul into assembling an arsenal meant to topple Stark Industries, Vanke was now fully armed—but he had reached a final, insurmountable obstacle: he couldn't locate Tony Stark. Media reports showed that Tony had not appeared at any of the scheduled public events, and he had even skipped the high-profile racing game. Instead, Tony was nowhere to be seen, leaving Ivan Vanke to stew in his bitter frustration.

For three long days, Vanke lurked outside Tony's villa, his eyes scanning every window, every shadow. He slept on the cold streets like a vagrant, scavenging food from trash bins, all the while nursing a seething desire for revenge. His heart burned with a thirst for vengeance so fierce that even eating leftover hamburgers or sleeping on a park bench only strengthened his resolve. Yet, fate had other plans for him.

Then, one fateful moment, everything changed.

In the dim light of early morning, when the chaos of the previous day still clung to the air, Vanke felt a sharp impact—a sudden, dazzling burst of incandescent light that forced his eyes open. Startled and disoriented, he shook his head against the pounding in his skull. Through the haze, he saw a shadowy figure sitting in a darkened corner. "Ivan Vanke…" a voice, slightly hoarse and distorted by a voice changer, uttered his name.

Vanke struggled against his restraints; he was securely bound to a sturdy chair, the result of expert binding techniques that left him with only minimal hope for escape. In front of him, meticulously arranged on a nearby table, were the very tools and equipment that Vanke had spent years painstakingly assembling—a veritable shrine to his quest for vengeance.

"Do you know?" the masked man began, stretching out a hand to lightly stroke one of Vanke's prized devices, "when my people first found you, I was amazed—astounded, in fact—because we finally discovered a genius. A genius no less than Tony Stark!" The man's face was hidden in shadow, his bulk unmistakable even if his features remained concealed.

As Vanke tried to move, his resistance grew ever feeble. The man continued, his tone a mix of scorn and amusement. "Tony always boasted that no one could forge a weapon like his in ten years. And here you are, stuck in a dilapidated room using broken equipment to create something half-decent. It's almost charming, really. But let me be clear: the only difference between you and Tony is that your father never beat your father!" A twisted smile crept into the man's voice. "And now, you have a new father—one from Hydra."

The revelation struck Vanke like a thunderbolt. Hydra. The very name, synonymous with treachery and clandestine power, sent shivers down his spine. He had fought for so long, and now it appeared that his nemesis was not only alive but pulling the strings from the shadows.

Back at Stark Industries' sprawling complex—and its equally impressive suburban villa—another drama was unfolding. It was the tenth day since Nate Locke had arrived in this strange new world, a day that coincided with a crucial event: card drawing. In the labyrinthine system that governed their powers and upgrades, the draw was a moment of destiny—a chance to summon a new follower or servant with abilities that might shift the balance of power.

Since morning, Nate had been in a ritual of meticulous preparation. He had washed his face multiple times, scrubbed his hands as if to cleanse away the lingering residue of yesterday's battles, and even lit incense before a statue of the Queen Mother Guanyin—a nod to ancient traditions reinterpreted in this modern American setting. Despite his inherent detachment and the way his powers often left him numb to human emotion, today he felt a stirring of anticipation. Today was the day he would try his luck with the system's card draw—an event known among the few who understood the intricacies of the summoning system as "the European spirit of card drawing."

"Are you going to start already? You've been staring in the mirror for twenty minutes," grumbled Quinn Maxwell, ever impatient, as he lounged in the corner of the high-tech lounge that Nate now called his temporary home. Quinn had been a loyal companion throughout Nate's journey—quietly efficient and always ready with a quip to break the tension.

Nate gave a small, wry smile. "You know what they say: 'He who possesses great power must earn his respect by showing sincere dedication. If you wash your clothes, burn incense, and pray together, you can even move the gods.'" His words, a curious mix of ancient wisdom and modern irony, were his personal motto for drawing cards in this unpredictable system. Deep down, he knew that the odds of summoning a reliable follower were astronomically low—after all, if duplicates were common, one might soon command an army. But fate, as always, had its own sense of humor.

"Call—" Nate exhaled slowly, his eyes closing as he focused. "It's now!" The system's summoning interface materialized before him, a shimmering magical circle slowly filling with arcane symbols and flickering light. The process was deliberate, the summoning speed of the advanced card draw agonizingly slow. Nate's heart pounded in his chest as he waited for a sign—any sign—that his luck was about to change.

At first, the magic circle did not gleam with a golden halo, and Nate's heart sank. But then came the chime: "Ding, congratulations—successfully summoned the three-star follower: ???" A three-star rating, though not extraordinary, was a pleasant surprise in a system known for its fickle probabilities. His disappointment quickly shifted to joy. Even if it was just a mediocre follower—a so-called "Samsung follower," as he jokingly referred to them—it was something that could help him feed his ever-growing "dog food" inventory.

However, Nate hesitated. He wasn't even sure what the summoned follower's name was, and getting someone to agree to serve him under such mysterious circumstances was another challenge entirely. His mind whirled, and suddenly a new interface element popped up—a virtual sack appeared before him. The system displayed that the summoned follower had accepted the call.

"Qi… Qi Mu…" Nate murmured, his thoughts racing with both excitement and nervous uncertainty. He recalled the strict rules of his system: even though a summoned servant could never harm its master, it had an absolute order that needed to be obeyed. With trembling fingers, Nate reached out and, with the assistance of Quinn Maxwell's steady guidance, untied the virtual rope that sealed the sack.

In a moment that took his breath away, a girl's face emerged from the virtual sack. Her appearance was startling—a young girl wrapped in what looked like ragged leather and animal hair, with an iron collar clamped tightly around her neck. A potent stench of dirt, blood, rain, and mud wafted from her as she was revealed. She looked every bit like a vagrant slave at first glance, but as Nate's eyes scanned her delicate features, he couldn't help but be mesmerized.

Despite the grime, her blonde hair shone with an almost angelic radiance, and her sky-blue eyes—calm and profound as a serene lake—stood out against her battered visage. It was as if, beneath layers of dirt and bruises, an otherworldly beauty lay hidden. Nate's pulse quickened; he found himself utterly transfixed.

Her expression was oddly blank, her face as smooth and serene as that of a porcelain doll. "I can't hear her voice," Quinn observed quietly, his tone conveying both awe and a touch of sorrow.

Nate clicked on the summoned follower's icon on the system screen. A three-dimensional hologram of the girl materialized, revealing more details—she appeared to be only eleven or twelve years old, and her name was represented by four enigmatic question marks. The system's comments scrolled by, a series of cryptic reviews:

"Weapon – the qualitative essence bestowed upon her. No emotion, no independent thought, just absolute obedience. She is the instrument destined to rule over death."

Then, unexpectedly, a new notification flashed in dazzling golden light accompanied by a satisfying squishy sound:

"Ding, congratulations—successfully summoned the four-star rare servant: Two Rituals."

Nate's mind raced as he tried to process the upgrade. "The European spirit of card drawing is bursting forth," he murmured under his breath. This wasn't just a lucky draw—it was a sign that fate had granted him a rare and powerful ally. The summoning system's design, with its ancient European mystique, was both perplexing and exhilarating. Here, in this chaotic blend of advanced technology and archaic magic, every card draw was a gamble, and every servant summoned could tilt the balance of power.

As Nate absorbed the moment, his thoughts drifted back to the broader, messy plot unfolding around him. Tony Stark had found his father's relic and was on the verge of acquiring the Dragon Slaying Sword—an instrument that promised to reshape the very forces of nature. Ivan Vanke, consumed by a seething desire for revenge, had been reduced to a desperate, broken man, sleeping in parks and scavenging for food while plotting against Tony. And amidst it all, the cards were being drawn, the fates of heroes and villains intertwining in unexpected ways.

Nate's heart pounded as he realized that the European spirit of card drawing was more than just a quirky system mechanic—it was a powerful force that governed destiny in this new world. The rare four-star servant, now designated "Two Rituals," might hold the key to unlocking new abilities or even rewriting parts of the messy plot that had ensnared so many lives.

"Qi Mu…" Nate's inner voice whispered as he looked to his loyal partner, whose presence had been a constant source of steadiness in this whirlwind of events. "This is it. Our next move may depend on what this servant can do."

Quinn Maxwell's mental reply was measured: "We'll have to see. Remember, every card draw is a gamble, but today, the odds seem to be in our favor."

The villa's corridors hummed quietly with activity as Tony Stark's world continued to churn outside—reports of mecha battles, corporate intrigue, and mysterious relics filled every headline. In one room, Pepper Potts was busy managing the media frenzy, her steady leadership balancing Tony's unpredictable brilliance. In another, Tony himself pored over his father's relic, trying to decipher clues that might solve the mystery of the palladium poisoning that had haunted him for so long.

And in the quiet solitude of his private chamber, Nate Locke sat before his summoning interface, the image of the four-star servant hovering in mid-air. The system's voice, calm and archaic, congratulated him on his success. But as the hologram of the servant—the mysterious girl with radiant, untarnished blue eyes—remained silent, Nate realized that this was only the beginning of a new chapter in their tangled, messy plot.

In this surreal convergence of technology, legacy, and destiny, the European spirit of card drawing was a beacon of both hope and uncertainty. Every card summoned, every follower gained, carried with it the potential to shift the balance of power—either to bring salvation or to plunge the world into deeper chaos. For Nate Locke, the journey had always been a delicate dance between overwhelming power and the desire for a life of simplicity, a life where even the smallest joys—like the taste of a perfect coffee pudding or the thrill of a rare card draw—could make all the difference.

As dawn broke over a restless city, Nate closed his eyes for a moment, letting the weight of the world settle upon him. In that quiet instant, he vowed to navigate the messy plot ahead with unwavering resolve. Whether it was fated battles between titanic mechas, bitter rivalries rooted in ancient legacies, or the uncertain promise of a rare servant summoned from the depths of the system, he would face it all. Because in this unpredictable realm where heroes were forged and destinies rewritten by the European spirit of card drawing, every choice mattered—and every card drawn was a step toward a future that was as uncertain as it was full of promise.

And so, with the soft glow of the summoning circle still lighting his face, Nate Locke prepared for his next move—aware that the strange magic of this world, the fierce battles of legacy and revenge, and the tangled web of fate would demand every ounce of his brilliance, his power, and his unyielding resolve.