The days of being a spiritual mentor in Meiman.

Chapter 4592 The Day of Brightest Day (51)

Chapter 4592 The Day of Brightest Light (Fifty-One)

Deathstroke was smoking on the rooftop of the Midway Museum. Suddenly, the rooftop door opened, and Schiller stepped out. He frowned when he saw Deathstroke smoking.

"Oh, what's going on? You don't mind this at all, the other one." Deathstroke said, but still stubbed out his cigarette. "Didn't you say you were one person?"

“It’s not that he doesn’t mind, he can just tolerate it,” Schiller said. “You don’t smoke in front of Joseph either, do you?”

“I’m not addicted to cigarettes,” Deathstroke said. “In fact, I’m not addicted to anything. So of course I don’t smoke at home.”

Schiller smiled and said, "You are indeed a good husband and a good father."

“Praise won’t help,” Deathstroke scoffed. “This show started much earlier than I thought, great inventor.”

"That's only how it is for you. For me, the plan has always been this way, and there's no problem with it."

“Now that I’m involved, I should at least know what happened before you went to Egypt, right?”

Schiller walked to the rooftop railing, turned around and leaned against it, saying, "Actually, this plan wasn't my idea; I just borrowed an idea I used before. But since it's urgent, I won't ask for royalties."

"The mural is indeed fake. But it wasn't originally created for the Justice League. Before that, Dr. Carter Hall, the manager of the Midway Museum—who was always troubled by the covetousness of artifacts by various thieves and antiquities dealers—approached me hoping I could help him solve this problem."

“Wait a minute,” Deathstroke held out his hand to stop him, then said, “Who are you? Why is he looking for you?”

“I thought you knew me well,” Schiller said with a smile. “You deal with people like me all the time, don’t you?”

“No,” Deathstroke shook his head.

“I’m the middleman,” Schiller said.

Deathstroke squinted.

"In fact, I'm just a middleman who's just started out, but I've already done a few good deals. I owe part of my reputation to you. If you hadn't taken the order to destroy the goods, I wouldn't be the middleman for the world's number one mercenary."

Deathstroke clenched his fist tightly: "So it was you!!!"

“No,” Deathstroke realized, “the middleman I hired was clearly…”

Can you still contact him?

Deathstroke's eyes widened slightly: "You killed him?!"

"Unfortunately, he has already been called by the Lord."

Deathstroke was taken aback, but he couldn't really blame Schiller. In their line of work, everyone risked their lives; if they died, they couldn't blame anyone else but themselves for not protecting themselves.

However, the middleman he thought was a rather experienced fellow unexpectedly fell into Schiller's trap. That guy was truly dangerous.

Although he hadn't noticed it before, now that he thought about it, the commission seemed suspicious in every way. He never imagined it would become a stepping stone for Schiller to solidify his reputation as a middleman. And since the commission failed, he gained nothing.

“Didn’t you get paid by the Justice League?” Schiller seemed to have guessed what he was thinking. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have had the chance to make money off Batman, would you?”

"That's true," Deathstroke thought to himself. The Justice League was quite generous. Diana's offer was high, far exceeding the price for a typical escort mission. Deathstroke knew it wasn't that he was unaware of the market rate; it was simply that they were using the idea of ​​paying high salaries to keep him out of trouble. And this tactic always worked; Deathstroke was genuinely willing to avoid implicating innocent people for the sake of money.

"As for why he chose me among so many intermediaries, and how he contacted me, I have my own ways. In short, he hopes I can help him deal with those frequent thieves and antiquities dealers. The most troublesome one is Haivin."

Schiller sighed softly and said, "They were old classmates, but they're completely different people. Haivin started studying this major just to make money without any scruples. Dr. Hall, on the other hand, is a true researcher. He has a deep affection for ancient Egyptian artifacts and doesn't want them to be sold off or destroyed."

"These two are sworn enemies. Although they are so far apart, they have clashed several times. According to Dr. Hall, the stolen goods from several successful thefts ended up in Haivin's hands. This infuriated him, but he was helpless to do anything about it."

“Couldn’t he go to Egypt to find him?” Deathstroke said. “He’s a renowned scholar; couldn’t he report him?”

"That's the problem. For some unknown reason, Dr. Hall can't go to Egypt. To be precise, he can't even show his face or let anyone know where he is."

"It sounds like you're hiding from an enemy."

“You can interpret it that way, but in any case, he can’t personally oppose Haivin. That’s why he always ends up at a disadvantage. And lately, the thefts have become increasingly rampant, and he simply can’t tolerate it anymore.”

"Then let me ask you, is the rampant theft related to you?"

“Never mind that,” Schiller continued. “Anyway, I discussed it with him, and we finally decided to set a trap for Haivin. This trap needed a lure. I originally suggested that he bring a real artifact, but he was unwilling, so we had to make a fake one.”

"That mural?"

"That's right, it's not entirely accurate to say I built it. Although I was responsible for the initial design, Dr. Hall deserves the most credit for the subsequent manufacturing and refinement of the details. That thing looks pretty impressive, doesn't it?"

The death knell wasn't really that hard to tell. But Haivin was a museum curator who had handled many genuine artifacts, and he didn't recognize it, which meant that the thing was very well made; at least someone below Dr. Hall's level of expertise wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

“After the product was made, I contacted Hessinage and pretended to cooperate with him to ship the product out of the United States. In reality, I knew he wanted to keep it all for himself, and I was just using his influence to get the paperwork done. His employers were well-known French arms dealers and the French government, and they had the means to get the legal permits in a short time and ship the product out.”

"In a short period of time?" Deathstroke caught the key phrase.

"That's right, this involves the other fish that this bait is meant to catch—the Justice League. The Justice League is eager to find something related to the power of the Seven Lamps, and I can make the mural exhibit some anomalies, making them think it's a clue to the power of the Seven Lamps and try to investigate. But just when they confirm that the mural is indeed abnormal, the procedures for transferring the artifact have already been completed, and the mural has been directly transported out. Naturally, they will send people to chase after it."

“And at that time, Batman just happened to be in trouble. They were too busy to chase after the artifacts, so they had to find you and send you to do it.” Deathstroke shook his head and said, “If I had your ability to create work for myself, I would be the number one mercenary in the universe.”

"In any case, I was hired to go to Egypt to retrieve the artifacts. However, it would be difficult for me alone to disrupt the situation in Egypt; the most crucial link needs someone to take the blame."

“You chose me,” Deathstroke said, “you tricked me into going to Egypt by giving me a mission, then you killed the leader of that armed group, framed me, and got yourself out of the mess.”

"This is a last resort. To destabilize Egypt, that man must die, but it can't be related to me. I need someone to take the fall for my reputation. You have to admit, this further solidifies your status as the world's number one mercenary, doesn't it?"

Deathstroke couldn't really refute it; at his level, killing celebrities could actually increase his fame. People would just think he'd taken on a tough job, navigating the chaotic Middle East with ease. This might even bring him a lot of Middle Eastern clients, helping him expand his sales there.

“If your son hadn’t come, my plan was to instigate Haivin and Hessinnag to fight each other, and they would both die in the end. However, Joseph’s intervention was more effective. Haivin is like he’s seen a ghost and won’t dare to cause trouble for a while.”

Deathstroke felt a surge of pride, though he didn't know what he was proud of. After all, he had been wrong; Joseph not only had the ability to be drawn into a huge vortex, he could even become a trendsetter in that vortex.

“That’s pretty much it,” Schiller said, spreading his hands. “I’m trying to persuade Hall to keep the project going so that he’ll choose to continue endorsing the murals.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Deathstroke said. “If the Justice League invited him to do the evaluation, he might not hide it from them and might even reveal your plans.”

Schiller shook his head and said, “He won’t. You can’t understand his feelings for ancient Egyptian artifacts. Think about it, if one day you could never go back to your home, and a group of thieves were stealing things from your house to sell, how would you treat them?”

Deathstroke had indeed considered this scenario, because he had previously made the worst-case scenario plan: never to show his true identity again, or never to appear in front of his family again.

He did this to protect his family. And if anyone dared to take this opportunity to sneak into his house and harm them, he would consider himself slow if he didn't hack them to pieces within three seconds.

“I don’t understand,” said Deathstroke. “Even if he was Egyptian and for some reason could never return to Egypt, what does that have to do with ancient Egyptian artifacts? Did he climb out of the pyramids?”

How do you know it isn't?

Deathstroke froze, and before he could even process what was happening, Schiller's phone suddenly rang. He paused after seeing the message, then frowned deeply.

When he looked up again, Deathstroke realized that Schiller had been replaced. He was about to say something when he saw Schiller pull out a gun—not the revolver, but probably the equipment he had prepared after returning to the United States—a Glock 19 equipped with a silencer, commonly known as the "Quiet Dog".

Deathstroke raised an eyebrow. As far as he knew, the company that modified this gun usually only allowed people who could legally possess it to obtain it. Could Schiller really have a legitimate secret agent identity?

Silenced weapons are strictly regulated; silencer kits rarely circulate among civilians and are extremely rare on the black market. Those hoping to make a living as assassins with a silenced pistol are often disappointed. Silenced weapons that do end up on the market are either very outdated or have been used to the point of being unreliable. They are more like bait deliberately released by law enforcement than weapons. No seasoned assassin would rely on them; sniper rifles or even grenade launchers would be far superior.

Suppressed weapons aren't that great either; suppressor kits significantly impact a weapon's performance. Furthermore, the better suppressed pistols require frequent friction plate replacements, which can be overwhelming in a crisis. Aside from special agents, almost no one would choose to use these types of firearms.

Deathstroke had only ever seen Schiller use that practically unusable revolver, which was completely out of character for him. As a result, throughout the entire Egyptian adventure, he hadn't displayed many spy-like qualities. Now, Deathstroke was even secretly looking forward to seeing how Schiller, equipped with truly "spy weapons," would perform.

In that brief moment of distraction, Schiller was already downstairs. The Bell hurriedly jumped down. Schiller glanced back at him and said, "If you keep making such a racket, you're better off not following me."

“Okay, I’ll try to be quiet.” Deathstroke shrugged. “I haven’t done this kind of delicate work in years. You’ll have to wait for me.”