amaotonovel Chapter 4603 The Day of Brightest Day (62)
Chapter 4603 The Day of Brightest Day (62)
Chapter 4603 The Day of Brightest Light (Sixty-Two)
Anatoly seemed eager to know what was going on with Schiller, but unlike Deathstroke, he wasn't as talkative, simply observing in silence. Schiller, on the other hand, made no attempt to hide anything; the first thing he did upon returning to the city was to load his gun, find a car, and drive to Cairo's red-light district.
Upon reaching the red-light district, he walked in, and just as he came face to face with the madam, a dollar bill was shoved into her lap. Schiller walked past her and went upstairs, knocking on the door at the very end of the corridor. The door opened, and a dark gun barrel was pressed against Ms. Shiva's forehead.
“That won’t work on me, boy.”
“Someone is manipulating you,” Schiller said. “I think you know who it is.”
Ms. Shiva paused, then sighed softly, stepped aside to let Schiller in, closed the door, and said, "Hayvin is too greedy; he wants too much. I just didn't expect him to dare to attack me."
“When a businessman is not satisfied with his current wealth, he will inevitably get involved in politics. The chaos in Egypt is not good for either of us. If it is inconvenient for you to get rid of your former employer, I can help you.”
"You expect me to trust an American police officer?" Ms. Shiva smiled dismissively.
“Ordinary American police officers wouldn’t be here.” Schiller tilted his head. “I just need Haivin’s location.”
Ms. Shiva hesitated for a moment, then spoke: “Although I am an assassin, I do not like killing that is beyond my control. Haivin should not have manipulated me in this way—he has a lover in Romania, where he usually spends Ramadan.”
“I don’t have time to go to Romania,” Schiller said. “I’ll bring him back.”
“His most treasured possessions were his collection of artifacts. He wouldn’t risk taking everything with him; some of them must still remain in Egypt.”
Where?
“I don’t know, nobody knows,” Ms. Shiva said, shaking her head. “He won’t tell anyone about it.”
"Okay, I understand." Schiller took out his phone, dialed a number, and said to the other end as he walked out, "Hello, Joseph?"
As he left the building, he had already hung up the phone and was driving to the address he had obtained from Joseph. Meanwhile, while he was going upstairs, Deathstroke was subtly probing Anatoly—or at least, he thought he was trying to find out more from the sidelines.
When did you two meet?
Anatoly remained silent, lost in his own thoughts. Deathstroke said somewhat helplessly, "What's your relationship with him? Why does he speak Russian? If you don't tell me, I'll just have to guess."
Anatoly glanced at him and said, "How can you act like such a stereotypical American idiot?"
"Cough cough cough cough..." Deathstroke almost choked on his own saliva. "If you don't want to answer, then don't answer. There's no need for personal attacks, is there? I haven't offended you!"
"Ah, lots of people fall for that," Anatoly said to himself. "Completely brainless blond American idiots. I guess you play football too?"
Deathstroke opened his mouth: "That's discrimination, you damn Russian. You can't do that..."
"The logic of the language sounds like a quarterback. 'Long pass! Long pass!' I'm glad you know other English words besides that."
Deathstroke had never longed for Schiller's return so much. Help!
Schiller didn't disappoint him; he quickly returned, drove to another address, and stopped in a residential area on the outskirts of Cairo. This time, he grabbed the revolver, and then, with a deafening roar, the houses on the ground nearly sprang up.
Schiller blasted open the door to the safe house without pausing for a moment. He kicked over the display stand next to him, followed by several well-wrapped boxes and a bunch of glass cabinets. Then he raised his hand and shot the chandelier.
Next came the next safe house, hidden in a renovation room of the underground water system. There was another one not far from the mayor's residence. Even the one hidden in the rabbit hole behind the villa wasn't spared; almost everyone was wiped out.
Finally, he drove to another residential area, the last and largest of all. The previous safe houses contained a mix of genuine and fake items, with the majority being fake, mostly manufactured to deceive auction houses with fraudulent appraisals. This last one, however, contained only genuine items.
Haivin didn't keep him waiting long; before dawn, he hurriedly appeared outside the villa's courtyard wall. Schiller climbed over the wall, and the motion-sensor light illuminated Haivin's deathly pale face.
"I……"
boom!
The body lay on the lawn with only a soft thud. Schiller stepped forward, pulled out a dagger, placed one hand on his chin, tilted his head back, and gripped the dagger with the other hand. He aimed at the genioglossus muscle and stabbed until the body was completely still. Then he pulled the dagger out, embedded it in the grass, and wiped it with the body's clothes.
Sheathing his dagger, Schiller began searching Haivin's body, quickly finding his cell phone in his pocket. He scrolled through the message history, his gaze lingering on "Deputy Curator Saa" in the contact list.
Schiller took his phone back to the car, tossed it to Deathstroke in the passenger seat, and said, "Help me arrange to meet him at the museum."
Deathstroke glanced at the text message editing list Schiller had brought up, didn't ask too many questions, and typed a message in Arabic and sent it.
When they arrived at the museum, as Schiller got out of the car, Anatoly suddenly said, "Shet has a knife."
"Understood." He paused only briefly before striding into the museum.
The curator's office was on the top floor, accessible by a direct elevator, but Schiller chose to take the stairs instead. Upon reaching the fifth floor, he quickly entered his office.
He hadn't been there long when footsteps sounded from the stairwell. Schiller pushed open the door and raised his gun. Bang.
The silenced pistol made a faint sound, about as loud as the sound of a door closing, but what echoed in the corridor was a different kind of metallic clang. Schiller dodged the slashing blade to the side, raised his hand, and fired another shot. Bang!
As dawn broke, standing at the end of the corridor was a dark-skinned man in a suit. In his hand was a gleaming sword, its hilt inlaid with exquisite gems, clearly not from this era.
"you……"
Bang! Bang! Two more shots. The sword wasn't a shield and couldn't be used to block bullets. One of the bullets hit his shoulder, and the man let out a muffled groan, raising his sword and lunging forward again.
Schiller dodged the slash again, then kicked Schiller in the side of his leg, causing him to stumble. Bang!
A bullet pierced his abdomen. The man clutched his left side, doubled over in pain. Schiller kicked the knife out of his hand. Bang!
The man slowly fell to the ground, staring at Schiller in disbelief. Schiller walked over, picked up the knife, and said to him, "Has Shet. Prince Khufu sends his greetings. Traitors never have a moment's peace."
A chilling hatred blazed in Shet's eyes, but as his life force faded, he gradually lost his strength. A glint of light flashed from the precious blade, seemingly interfering with the course of his soul. Schiller didn't stop him, but simply stepped forward again to deliver the final blow with his dagger.
“Alright, let’s go back,” Schiller said, opening the car door.
"So you went back to Egypt to eliminate any future trouble?" Deathstroke asked, turning his head.
“No,” Schiller turned to look at Anatoly, then said, “I was trying to persuade him not to attack the Justice League.”
"How do you plan to persuade them?" Anatoly asked, arms crossed.
“The Batman you want to protest against isn’t here right now,” Schiller said. “They’re coming to you because they want your help to find Batman.”
Where did Batman go?
“That’s exactly what I wanted to say,” Schiller sighed. “The arrogant student has gotten himself into a huge mess, and Batman’s disappearance is related to him.”
"So it really was you?!" Deathstroke exclaimed first. Although he had already suspected it, hearing this news was still shocking.
Schiller gave Deathstroke a disdainful look, as if Deathstroke had some comprehension problem. When did he say he did it himself?
“Let Pride tell you himself,” Schiller said. “Once I send you back, my mission will be complete. You should be able to see him soon.”
Will he tell me about your situation? Or will he be greedy?
Schiller sighed. "Alright, what do you want to know? Rather than waiting for the two of them to make fun of me, I'll tell you myself."
How did you become a secret agent?
"They were specially recruited."
"Of course. You can't just go to a secret service academy and take an exam to get in. I'm asking why they would specially recruit you."
"They probably recognized my talent."
"It's unheard of for them to recruit truly talented people."
"They need someone to do the dirty work."
"I understand, they have something on you."
"A small mistake."
“That doesn’t seem right.” Anatoly raised an eyebrow. “Who caused this mess?”
"I'd call it greed."
"So you were created by him to take the blame."
“No,” Schiller said. “You don’t actually want me to use my talents to contribute to the American policing system, do you?”
“Oh, so you were created by him to cause trouble.” Anatoly narrowed his eyes. “You’re a top agent.”
"Yes, but as you said, to become a top agent in the FBI, it's not about achievements. As long as you kill all your rivals, you'll naturally be the only option."
“Looks like you’ve killed quite a few of your own people,” Anatoly said. “And then what?”
"What happened later?"
"After you come back."
“I’ve taken on quite a few jobs, and I’m well-known for it. I’ve received unanimous praise from Batman.” Schiller paused for a moment, then continued, “But I can’t help but have a bit of an infighting streak, and I’ve taken down a few Batmen.”
Anatoly laughed and said, "That's true talent."
The two communicated entirely in Russian, but Deathstroke, having lived in Eastern Europe, also spoke Russian and could understand the gist of it. However, when they switched to Chinese, he was completely lost.
“Looks like you’ve been fooling around a lot over there,” Anatoly said.
"It's alright. I attend classes on weekdays and go to church on weekends, just taking time out to get revenge. After graduation, I wanted to pursue further studies, but fate played a trick on me, and I became a secret agent."
Anatoly scoffed: "Going to class is to create an alibi, going to church is to better dispose of corpses, after graduation you're going to become a professional killer, and becoming a secret agent is to kill legally."
Schiller turned his head away and said, "It seems you won't believe anything I say."
“Because you have absolutely no credibility,” Anatoly said, looking at him. “This is the result of letting the pathological dominate everything. You must have been feeling really stifled back home, right?”
“I don’t know, I’m just an ordinary agent.” Schiller decided to end the topic, but after thinking for a moment, he added, “But I quickly got back on track and returned to teaching.”
"It's just to have a more respectable identity to move around high society, to obtain more confidential information from that organization, and to force them to make you crash."
"Yes. But what I'm saying is exactly that if I had stayed as a secret agent instead of becoming a professor, Pride wouldn't have stayed at Gotham University, and he wouldn't be trying to save that lousy student at this point."
"Then I'd rather help him get the students approved."
“I’m relieved to hear that,” Schiller said. “Now, Batmen from several major universes, along with the Black Death Emperor and Darkseid from the multiverse, are hanging on the Origin Wall. I’m out of ideas, it’s up to you.”
Anatoly froze: "The Origin Wall?"
"So, do you feel my career plan is better now?"