PFC Chapter 4559 The Day of Brightest Day (8)
Chapter 4559 The Day of Brightest Day (8)
Chapter 4559 The Sun Shines Brightest (18)
Gunshots rang out from the end of the corridor, some sporadic, but mostly screams. The hand cannon still hadn't fired, but that wasn't good news. Deathstroke wasn't sure what Schiller had used to kill him—he couldn't possibly still be holding that torn-off piece of the shield, could he?
Thinking about this, Deathstroke's neck started to ache again. This kind of injury wouldn't actually kill him, but the problem was Schiller's unpredictable movements. That was fatal for a tactical mastermind.
You have absolutely no idea why he would break off a piece of the partition and stab it into the driver's neck at that moment. It makes absolutely no sense, and it doesn't even seem like he wanted to kill him. And the subsequent series of violent actions don't seem to be aimed at achieving any violent goal. The two are completely disconnected.
Deathstroke admitted he was curious about Schiller, like someone who had stumbled upon an interesting storybook, with cause and effect, logical connections—essential elements of any book—and then suddenly everything was thrown into disarray. He knew it was still the same letters, but scrambled and rearranged, making it incomprehensible.
Everything happened too fast for Deathstroke to predict. He drew his twin swords and hurried toward the sound of the gunshot. Then, he froze the moment he entered the spacious dining room.
Because the figure standing opposite Schiller was actually his employer. Deathstroke's face instantly darkened.
Deathstroke was a seasoned mercenary. He understood one thing: if someone paid him a high price for a mission, it was because that person had a reason why they absolutely couldn't be involved. For their reputation, for their family, for keeping their hands clean. It was because such people existed that mercenaries had business.
They would keep their distance, even when sending someone to meet them, they would be extremely cautious, outsourcing the process layer by layer, never letting anyone see their true faces. Although Deathstroke had an advantage in this regard because of his consistently good reputation, many employers were willing to meet him to discuss more details. But they would also avoid facing him directly as much as possible, only speaking to him by phone or in another room.
Deathstroke didn't see this as cowardice; in fact, he admired their caution. Because in this line of work, there were plenty of examples of people being betrayed by the very hitmen they hired. Again, you can't expect someone who's paid to kill to have any moral compass.
If, as is the case now, the person who hired him suddenly appears at the scene, it most likely proves one thing—the commission was a complete scam.
The person in front of him was neither his employer, nor even his employer's agent, nor even a mere errand boy. Anyone affiliated with the employer would not be present at the crime scene. That would inevitably arouse suspicion and become evidence of their attempt to interfere. He'd already spent the money; there was no need to leave himself with such leverage.
Deathstroke began to ponder where things had gone wrong.
His employer was a wealthy man from Eastern Europe. In fact, that region is a haven for assassins and mercenaries. People there love to pay for dirty work. Deathstroke had taken on many jobs there without a single mistake. The middleman he found this time was also very reliable. No one less experienced would dare touch the mess in the Middle East.
The only possibility is that the middleman failed again. This surprised Deathstroke. That guy was a veteran in the industry. What had blinded him?
Deathstroke began to recall the details of the mission he had been given. It was actually quite simple. This arms dealer from Eastern Europe had foolishly ignored warnings of impending war and insisted on sending his goods across the Red Sea. Unsurprisingly, they were hijacked.
The origins of this shipment are also questionable; it bears military markings that haven't been completely removed. If it appears in this armed conflict, it could easily be interpreted as the involvement of certain major powers. And if exposed, this arms oligarch could face the wrath of his overlord. So Deathstroke needs to find a way to get the goods back, or simply destroy the evidence.
Deathstroke's solution was simple. While he could have simply stormed in and dealt with everyone who opposed him, his employer clearly didn't want such a commotion and wanted to proceed as quietly and quickly as possible. So Deathstroke devised a plan that attracted a large number of international police and European law enforcement agencies, bringing them here.
This would successfully destabilize the situation, and more importantly, neither side in the armed conflict wants the European bigwigs involved. They don't want anyone paying attention here. Therefore, they deeply resent the troublesome death knell and will do everything in their power to take it down.
If both sides came to him, he wouldn't have to go looking for them. His hunt in the Red Sea proved his plan correct. But at this point, the whole thing collapsed. This hiring was a scam from the start. An arms oligarch couldn't possibly be here.
Deathstroke stared intently at the short, stout man, trying to figure out what role he was playing in this deception. Just as he was pondering this, the barrel of a rifle pierced his chest.
Deathstroke opened his mouth, unsure how to describe the scene. Schiller held a gun, probably an AWM, and the greatest advantage of this high-performance sniper rifle in his hands was its long barrel, capable of piercing a person through.
Firearms can be used as melee weapons; in fact, striking someone with the butt of a gun is quite effective. Deathstroke often did this. However, this is considered a conventional method of use. There's even a dedicated course, "Armed Combat," that teaches people how to engage in close-quarters combat while armed.
But Schiller used it completely differently. He was like a primitive man who suddenly arrived in modern society, and because he didn't know that guns could fire, he used this thing as a spear, which was as bizarre as it could be.
After killing the short, stout arms dealer, Schiller suddenly looked over. When he met those grey eyes, Deathstroke felt a completely different chill. If Deathstroke regretted opening Pandora's box, he didn't show it. He simply asked, "Are you alright?"
Schiller didn't speak. He simply raised his revolver. Just as Deathstroke thought Schiller was going to shoot him and raised his sword to defend himself, Schiller suddenly turned the gun around and fired a shot directly at the ceiling.
"boom!!!!!"
A shower of blood and flames engulfed the room. The ceiling was shattered, but what fell wasn't just rubble and debris, but also fragments of bodies—not just one.
Deathstroke's first reaction was that he had underestimated the gun. If he wasn't mistaken, Schiller had just fired six bullets in one go. How did he do that?
Before he could come to a conclusion, he had to start complaining about the building's fragility. The building was made of reinforced concrete; surely it shouldn't have shattered like this after just one hit from a tank's main gun? To be precise, it took six hits, but even that was a bit of an exaggeration.
The floorboards were all broken, and those on top were naturally doomed. Deathstroke sighed, wondering what Schiller was up to this time, and then he saw the leader of one side of the armed conflict—the same face that had appeared on television just hours before—roll down to his feet.
Deathstroke's brain, which had been almost completely exploited, began to boil.
Schiller had already jumped out of the window. A sudden commotion erupted in the corridor. A large group of people rushed in. Among them were security personnel from the other side of the armed conflict—their uniforms were a different color, making them easy to identify. They saw Deathstroke and the head at his feet.
"He's dead! He's dead!" someone shouted. "That demon is dead! We're about to win! To hell with negotiations! Kill them all!!!"
Very well. Law enforcement from 16 countries probably won't be enough. Deathstroke wondered, "How many countries and regions are there in the world again?"
Without a doubt, this war was of paramount importance. Just as posterity may view the attack on Archduke Ferdinand as a catalyst for a shift in the world's political landscape, this photograph of himself and his own image—with the tolling bells seeing journalists following behind those men—will undoubtedly be etched in history.
As the tolling bell fell from the building, the clear sea and horizon were clearly visible. He didn't even have time to wonder why they would place such an important negotiation in Hegada. He had to find Schiller now and find out what had happened.
If one's commission is a complete scam, perhaps even orchestrated by one side in a conflict, then what about Schiller's? Is a journey to recover artifacts truly just about finding artifacts?
Although Deathstroke was fairly certain that Schiller's employer was Wonder Woman, and he didn't believe Wonder Woman would get involved in the war, that didn't mean she wouldn't be misled. Who exactly was behind all this?
Following Schiller's trail, Deathstroke found himself on the beach. Not far from his safe house, it appeared to be the starting point for a snorkeling trip. Schiller stood on the dock, which was filled with small boats, one hand gripping a nearby lamppost.
"Are you alright?" Deathstroke found himself somewhat amused. Schiller was the only one in all of Egypt who was currently unharmed. Because of that leader's death, martial law had been declared throughout Egypt.
Schiller took a deep breath, washed his hands with the remaining mineral water in the bottle, looked up at him and said, "Okay."
Do you know what happened?
"What exactly is going on?"
The two spoke almost simultaneously, then froze.
You don't know either?
How could you not know?
The probability of two violent machines jamming simultaneously is small, but not impossible. Now, this somewhat absurd situation has arisen. They both claim to be unaware of the current situation, yet both can confirm the other is not lying. This makes the situation extremely perplexing.
Deathstroke felt he was in the right, saying, "If you didn't know what was going on, how did you end up at that hotel?"
“I’m going to track down the killer,” Schiller said. “The guy I killed orchestrated the hijacking, which caused me to plummet into the Red Sea from tens of thousands of meters in the air. I’m just going for revenge.”
How did you find out about him?
“I don’t need to check, I can see it,” Schiller said.
How did you see that?
“You helped me see it,” Schiller said, looking at the death knell. “Your driving skills are absolutely terrible. I’ve never been so dizzy. In that instant, I could almost see the entire Arab world. The killer wasn’t even noticeable in it, but I still locked onto him.”
"Then why did you shoot at the building upstairs?"
“That’s the murderer,” Schiller coughed twice, then said, “I didn’t mean to frame you; he really did die at your hands.”
"You mean if I don't knock you out..."
"What I mean is, you preferred to come looking for trouble with me rather than carry out your mission, which changed the situation and forced them to come here to negotiate. If they were on the other side of the Red Sea, I wouldn't have had a chance to kill them."
Deathstroke felt his head buzzing.