The days of being a spiritual mentor in Meiman.

Chapter 4585 The Day of Brightest Day (44)

Chapter 4585 The Day of Brightest Light (Forty-Four)

The bearded man and his gang reacted even faster, instantly dropping what they were holding and raising their guns. But this caused Haivin to let out an even more agonizing scream, as the mask fell to the ground and chipped off a corner. He tried to lunge forward, but the sight of the dark muzzle of a gun made him flinch.

"You bunch of bastards, what do you want?!" Haivin shouted desperately. "Take it all, take it all. Just don't touch my things!!!"

“You know what I want.” Schiller looked at him and said, “I just wanted to take back what was rightfully mine. You’ve made it all too complicated.”

Haivin closed his eyes in anguish and said in Arabic, “That damned French swindler came to me, saying he’d found an easy target. He said if we hid the murals, they’d be ours. It was indeed a wonderful thing, and all I wanted was my share…”

"What did he say?" Schiller asked, looking at the bearded man.

“You’re looking for a mural,” the bearded man looked at him and asked, “What kind of mural? Is it valuable?”

“It might be very valuable, but my employer is the Justice League,” Schiller said. “You don’t want to complicate things here, do you?”

The bearded man frowned deeply. He looked at Haivin and said in Arabic, "What do you want to do? Let those meddlesome Americans completely ride roughshod over us? Give him back his stuff!"

Although Schiller didn't understand Arabic, he could tell from the bearded man's tone that he was trying to persuade Haivin on his behalf. This was to be expected. Haivin was just a greedy antiquities collector; he didn't care about the regional situation. But the bearded man and his gang were different. They could act arrogantly here because there was no stronger force to restrain them. But if the Justice League were here, things would be different.

While decapitation strikes may not eliminate superpowered individuals, Superman's righteous fist will not let any terrorist escape—by the Justice League's moral standards, there are hardly any non-terrorists around the Red Sea.

In reality, Superman isn't indifferent to the affairs of other countries; he's just been too busy lately. He's overwhelmed with matters in the universe, so it's inevitable that he'll neglect things on Earth. His prolonged absence has allowed tensions to escalate in certain regions.

“It’s too late.” Haivin looked at Schiller and said, “Doesn’t the Justice League have any enemies?”

What do you mean?

"When I got there, the murals had already been taken away," Haivin said, somewhat distraught. "That damned French conman must have planted a tracking device in there. I knew he wouldn't do it so easily..."

Schiller stepped forward and struck him on the back with the butt of his rifle. He wasn't just venting his anger; he said coldly, "You'd better think this through. I think you understand the methods of these friends."

Haivin trembled. How could he not understand? These people were always ruthless towards their enemies. If he fell into their hands, he would be completely finished.

He had realized this long ago, but he still had to come because he couldn't let them take things away—not all of them belonged to him. Some were reserved by the employer, and some were stored here awaiting his appraisal report. If they were all gone, his fate wouldn't be much better.

“I’m telling the truth,” Haivin said through gritted teeth. “It’s proven that Hessinnag has his own force, don’t you already know that? And I wasn’t the one who took him away!”

"Can't you see everything here? Who took him away?"

"I didn't see it immediately, and the surveillance footage was deleted!"

Schiller narrowed his eyes, seemingly weighing the veracity of these words. But after a long pause, he chose to believe Haivin. Undoubtedly, it was unlikely that Haivin had taken Hessinag; it wouldn't benefit him at all. If it wasn't him, then there was something fishy going on.

Schiller released him and then said, "You believe Hessinger took the murals?"

"It could only be him!" Haivin screamed. "He touched that mural; he has a way of putting tracking devices in it. He must have accomplices; they broke in and stole the mural before I even got to the safe house!"

Where is your safe house?

Haivin said dejectedly, "I can take you there; it'll be abandoned anyway. But you can't touch anything here..."

"My friend won't make a wasted trip."

“I can give you some. I mean, a few items that are equally priceless, and they even have official authentication certificates. But you can’t touch those things; they already have owners. You don’t want to get into trouble, do you?”

Schiller glanced at the bearded man, who also weighed his options. In truth, they faced difficulties in selling these artifacts; they didn't know anyone in the field. Moreover, items without official documentation wouldn't fetch a good price, so it was better to acquire a few high-quality pieces with official documentation, which might sell for a high price at auction.

“Fine,” the bearded man said, “but you better not try to fool us, or we’ll expose everything you’ve done.”

Haivin sighed. He didn't want to compromise either, but there was no other way now. He pointed out a few artifacts to them and then produced their certificates of authenticity.

The bearded man and his men left quickly. However, before leaving, the bearded man told Schiller that there was nothing unusual about Deathstroke's side; his men had been following him the whole time and hadn't seen him come into contact with anyone.

Schiller took Haivin to his safe house. The place was so remote it seemed to be almost in West Africa. It was fortunate they didn't follow in his footsteps to find the safe house, otherwise they might not have found it even after searching the entire desert.

The mural had indeed once been here; Schiller saw signs that it had been moved. He turned to Haivin and asked, "How did he open the door?"

“To be honest, I don’t know,” Haivin said. “I don’t know where he got the password, how he bypassed the security system, or how he deleted the surveillance footage. He’s like he’s possessed by a demon.”

Haivin knew his explanation was unreliable, so he paused for a moment before saying, "However, this mural isn't one of those trinkets that you can just slip into your pocket and carry around. He needs a proper car."

Schiller immediately realized that there was a stretch of sandy road outside the safe house—the kind that hadn't been built up and had simply become a road from the passage of many people. But this was the desert, and not just any vehicle could traverse such sandy roads; there were strict requirements regarding vehicle type and power. If a half-ton mural were added on top, the number of vehicles available would become even smaller.

“You can’t steal this kind of vehicle,” Haivin said. “I had someone check the purchase and rental records, and eventually found that a moving company’s van was being rented and returned at suspicious times. But I can’t…”

"Are you afraid?"

“If I didn’t hate him more than you right now, I would never have told you this—this is not normal,” Haivin said seriously. “I have never told anyone else the password to the safe house. Nobody. It’s a secret only I know, but it was opened just like that. There’s a devil at work.”

“I understand,” Schiller sighed softly. “Tell me where that car went, and then it’s none of your business.”

Haivin didn't seem relieved at all. He simply gave Schiller the address and then hurried away, seemingly wanting to leave this troublesome place.

Schiller went to meet up with Deathstroke first. Deathstroke seemed as usual; clearly, the job wasn't difficult for him. Deathstroke asked with some concern, "How's it going? Did you find the mural?"

“Not yet.” Schiller shook his head, recounted what had happened before, and then said, “It’s still the same. We can’t follow the clues; we have to get the killer to come forward.”

"What are you planning to do?" Deathstroke asked, sounding curious, as if he just wanted to know how long this farce would last and what the mystery of the final level was.

“We need to go to the red-light district,” Schiller said.

Deathstroke didn't ask why; they drove to the red-light district. The burned-down house still stood there, clearly beyond repair. However, Schiller still found the brothel owner near the house.

“There have been some suspicious people lately, right? They’ve gone into hiding. You know who they are.”

The madam sighed and said, "I don't want to cause trouble."

"Then tell me what you know. After all, you're unlikely to run into bigger trouble than I am."

Schiller took another wad of cash from the Bell and handed it to the madam. As she counted the money, she said, “It was those lunatics who took control of the airport. I don’t know why they were defeated. I thought they could hold out a little longer and make my business better.”

Schiller knew that the planes' inability to take off had left many travelers stranded. The red-light district offered relatively cheap accommodations and various places to have fun, attracting many travelers and making the area quite profitable.

"They're hiding in the hotel across the street, seemingly discussing something." The madam put the money away and then said, "You'd better bring plenty of men and guns with you when you go; they're not pushovers."

Schiller headed in the direction he pointed. Deathstroke said, "You just got together with another group, and now you're going to find their enemy?"

“Whatever grudges they have are none of my business,” Schiller said. “I just need them.”

"I'm afraid it's not entirely unrelated," Deathstroke muttered under his breath.

Schiller ignored the madam's warning and knocked on the hotel door. Sure enough, he saw a very wary face and a dark gun barrel.

Of course, he didn't send Deathstroke. After all, according to the news, it was Deathstroke who killed the gang's leader. If he came, it would immediately turn into a shootout.

“I’m American, and I have something to discuss with you,” Schiller said. “As you would like, I can help you.”

The other party still seemed somewhat skeptical. Schiller feigned nonchalance and said, "If I leave now, how long can you hold out here? The airport has resumed operations. Once the tourists are gone, you'll be found very quickly."

The other person hesitated for a moment, then stepped aside to let him in. Schiller, completely unconcerned about the guns pointed at him, said bluntly, "You have already failed, but you still have a chance to turn things around."

"What?" This group's English was even worse, but fortunately Schiller's hearing wasn't very good either, so he just guessed.

"The Justice League of America is looking for a mural with magical powers, which is currently in Cairo. If you can find it, you might be able to get help from the Justice League."

"What?!" The room erupted in an uproar. They repeatedly checked what they had heard, their Arabic chatter never ceasing.

"This is your only hope. After all, in your current situation, you have virtually no chance of escape. Apart from Superman, I doubt anyone can help you get out of Cairo."

“You’re lying. Superman won’t help us,” some of them said. “He’ll only destroy us.”

"That was when you had no chips to play. I told you, that mural has magical powers and is extremely important to the Justice League. This is your only chance."

The people inside looked at each other in bewilderment. Schiller didn't linger; he left them the information about the moving company's trucks and then departed.