amaotonovel Chapter 4553 The Day of Brightest Day (2)
Chapter 4553 The Day of Brightest Day (2)
Chapter 4553 The Day of Brightest Light (Part Twelve)
Now, curiosity about Schiller outweighed his desire to kill. In fact, Deathstroke had little desire to kill. He didn't see himself as a runaway violent machine; that assessment was too negative, and Deathstroke only considered it a joke.
About 20 seconds later, Deathstroke deeply understood a truth—human nature is to judge others by one's own standards. Humans cannot imagine how to evaluate areas they have never ventured into.
Out of curiosity, Deathstroke agreed to Schiller's plan. This was the decision he would regret most in the coming days. Deathstroke felt that Schiller was simply stubbornly trying to realize his own value. After all, the situation at the door didn't seem like something one person could fight their way out of. Although Deathstroke was very confident in himself, it wasn't impossible for Schiller to do it this way; he could later obtain more information by selling him medicine.
He had already realized that Schiller had developed a high fever. This was a sign that his body's temperature regulation system had completely malfunctioned. And his fragile eardrums could no longer withstand the torment of that hand cannon. It would probably only take one last shot for him to become completely deaf, and he probably wouldn't recover for several days.
A deafening bang signaled the start of the battle. Deathstroke charged forward, wielding his two-handed sword. It was a one-sided massacre from the start. Unfazed by bullets, he wielded his swords with dazzling skill, leaving a trail of blood in his wake, and the regular army was forced into retreat.
But the enemy was clearly more complex than that. Soon, with a clang, one of the two swords used to deflect the bullet snapped in two. Deathstroke raised an eyebrow, rolled on the spot, and dodged the next bullet. There was a sniper each to the north and southeast, both using large-caliber anti-materiel sniper rifles. They really thought highly of him.
The opponent likely used special bullets, because although his two swords weren't made of special metal, their strength was still extremely high. The impact might have slightly slowed his movements, but for them to break completely, it definitely meant something was tampered with.
In that instant of hesitation, the soldiers immediately surrounded his flanks. Deathstroke glanced over, and as he reached behind his back to draw his greatsword, he saw the soldiers falling at an abnormal speed.
The other figure moved even faster than expected. After observing for three seconds and judging by his years of tactical experience, Deathstroke was more inclined to believe he was seeing a ghost.
Generally speaking, large, heavily armored warriors aren't very fast. If they're also wielding a massive longsword, they're easily perceived as clumsy. Deathstroke exploited this misconception to behead countless people. This top mercenary's greatest advantage was his size and speed. He possessed a towering stature and imposing presence, yet at the same time, he was as agile as a snake and as swift as a ghost.
Deathstroke thought he was already incredibly unscientific, but then he realized there were even more experts out there. A muscular person isn't necessarily fast, but a person without muscle definitely can't be fast. Explosive power requires a lot of muscle mass. Schiller clearly didn't have that kind of muscle mass.
He looked rather thin, not unhealthy, but not like a soldier either. No one would doubt he was an office worker. His physique simply couldn't support that kind of explosive speed. But damn it, he was just as fast as a ghost.
Deathstroke didn't see what weapon he used, nor did he need one. At that speed, he was no different from a moving train. The thought had barely formed in his mind when he was struck and thrown into the air by the train.
"Ugh, shit!" he cursed, rolled on the ground, and stood up. "Can't you watch where you're going?!"
He raised his greatsword to block another sniper bullet. This time, the bullet was deflected and pierced the enemy's chest. He killed two more enemies before realizing that Schiller seemed to be in a bad state.
Deathstroke opened his mouth to shout, but then realized he didn't know what to say. Calling someone a "blue-skinned dog" in this situation would be like changing from a train to a high-speed rail.
"Stop!" Deathstroke shouted. But then, as soon as he finished shouting, he realized he must have gone deaf. "God..."
Deathstroke already had a bad feeling. He realized that some of Schiller's earlier remarks weren't a joke. The truth is always hidden in the antennae of a moth.
He slashed away the two men who surrounded him with his sword. To be honest, these guys weren't much of a problem for him anymore. He had to stop Schiller and prevent him from rushing into the city.
Deathstroke isn't someone who cares much about civilians; otherwise, he wouldn't have become a killer. Countless innocent people have died at his hands over the years. But if the Egyptian authorities are alerted and they send in their regular army to hunt down this monster, causing chaos in the city, then his mission might be in jeopardy.
With a clang, another bullet was deflected. Deathstroke hated snipers more than anything. The enemies in front of him were falling at an alarming rate, and it wasn't all his doing. Deathstroke bet at least three unfortunate souls had been accidentally killed by snipers aiming at Schiller.
Deathstroke assessed the situation and prepared to take out the sniper first. But he underestimated Schiller's inability to distinguish friend from foe. Just as he was about to escape the battlefield, the handle of the revolver slammed into his shoulder.
"Damn it!" Deathstroke couldn't help but curse. His shoulder blade was definitely broken; where did this guy get that kind of strength?!
He turned and kicked Schiller's arm away, then reached for his neck. But Schiller dodged with remarkable agility and fired at the hand that was holding Deathstroke.
If it were a regular firearm, Deathstroke wouldn't even need to dodge. He's fully armored, with protective devices on the backs of his hands and wrists. A large-caliber revolver has a decent stopping power, but it would only momentarily stun him; there's no need to dodge at all.
But this tank's main gun was different. Deathstroke quickly pulled his hand up and gripped his greatsword tightly. With a loud "Clang—!!!!!", the two of them flew backward together.
After standing up, Deathstroke again wore a look of utter disbelief. His sword!!!
Of course, the sword didn't break. But the outer coating was completely ruined. Most importantly, he had underestimated the gun's power. Now his right hand was numb from the impact.
Schiller wasn't much better off. Because the bullet had a homing function, it didn't bounce off him. But the blast of air was still deadly, knocking him to the ground.
A good opportunity. Deathstroke charged forward, sword in hand. Not to cut Schiller, but to seize the chance to subdue him. Considering the difference in their size and weight class, this wasn't actually difficult.
Deathstroke remained cautious. He didn't immediately use ground techniques, fearing Schiller's counter-choke. Instead, he held his greatsword in front of him and pressed down on Schiller. This allowed him to use gravity to suppress his opponent. The sharp blade also rendered Schiller's physical techniques useless.
The plan was well thought out. But Deathstroke never expected that he would actually take to the air.
To be precise, Schiller threw him. Keep in mind that Schiller was lying on the ground. This wasn't a takedown or an over-the-shoulder throw. His opponent simply grabbed the arm holding his sword, then flipped him over and tossed him aside.
When Deathstroke rose again, his mindset had changed slightly. Very well. I'll see who's the more violent machine between us!
He slung the greatsword back over his shoulder and lunged at Schiller, seemingly wanting to test his ground skills. But Schiller dodged with another roll and then snatched the sword from his back.
Deathstroke flipped and kicked. Schiller blocked with his sword, and Deathstroke finally realized what Schiller meant by being unskilled with any melee weapons. Simply put, he didn't treat this thing as a bladed weapon; he used it like a fire poker. He just smashed it without any technique. Deathstroke didn't know whether to feel sorry for the sword's hilt or the armor's coating first.
"Clang!!!" Another strike. Deathstroke, unable to bear it any longer, kicked Schiller in the wrist. This forced him to abandon the greatsword, but he picked up the revolver again.
Deathstroke now knew he couldn't take the hit head-on. He rolled past him, picked up his sword, and, without checking its condition, dodged another shot. Then came a barrage of bangs.
Deathstroke thought he had a problem with his weapon knowledge. Didn't the Celtic Python only have six bullets?! And retrieving bullets takes time, doesn't it?!
Then he discovered that the great foundry had even equipped the cannon with six extra bullets and an automatic reloading function. In other words, as long as you can withstand the negative effects, you can fire this gun indefinitely.
Deathstroke was truly furious. Wouldn't you be scared of a tank cannon that could fire indiscriminately? He certainly was. He rolled repeatedly on the ground to dodge, thinking he still needed to disarm Schiller first.
He actually found a good opportunity. A sniper's bullet forced Schiller back. Deathstroke seized the chance, slashing with his sword and cornering Schiller. Then, in the instant he raised his gun, he changed his slash to a strike, slapping Schiller's right arm with his sword. The force of the blow was considerable. Schiller's right hand was dislocated, and his gun fell to the ground.
Before Deathstroke could even catch his breath, Schiller took advantage of the moment he sheathed his sword, circled behind him, and grabbed his neck with his left hand.
The choking maneuver should not be used against opponents with a significant weight difference. Because if the weight is sufficient, it's entirely possible to grab the opponent's arm and throw them back. Aside from the initial impact that might restrict movement, it's all harmful.
But the problem was, the initial impact was too forceful. Deathstroke almost heard his own spine crack. Another loud curse escaped his lips. He quickly slammed Schiller forward.
Unfortunately, another sniper bullet came flying at that moment. Deathstroke had no way to dodge it, and could only try to straighten his body to avoid a vital spot. With a "bang," the powerful anti-material sniper rifle bullet penetrated the armor and the inner fiber layer, pierced the muscle of his left arm, and got stuck just in the bone.
He might not be the most violent machine, but he was certainly the toughest. Even when the death knell pinned Schiller down, he still had time for idle thoughts. It seemed like he was mentally sharp, but in reality, he was out of options.
He'd barely touched it when he noticed Schiller's strength seemed even greater than before. The top mercenary was so angry he laughed. "Clerical staff? That's a lie. I shouldn't have skimped on that anti-inflammatory drug!"
Deathstroke, despite taking a bullet, managed to hold Schiller down for a second. He then pulled a sedative from his waist and plunged it into Schiller's neck. During the brief moment the sedative took effect, Schiller was thrown to the ground again. Fortunately, Schiller eventually calmed down.
Deathstroke really wanted to turn around and leave. But the problem was, there were still two damn snipers aiming at them. If he didn't take Schiller with him, this shot would definitely wake him up. Then he wouldn't be able to leave either.
Left with no other choice, Deathstroke had to hoist Schiller onto his back. He rushed into the street, chopped down a lamppost with his sword, causing a commotion, and then quickly disappeared into the crowd.