RNP Chapter 4564 The Day of Brightest Day (23)
Chapter 4564 The Day of Brightest Day (23)
Chapter 4564 The Day of Brightest Light (Twenty-Three)
Deathstroke stood there, stunned. Schiller began to speculate on his own, spouting things like "multiverse," "the power of the seven lamps," and "emotional spectrum," but Deathstroke didn't seem to hear a word he was saying, as if he were the one who had gone deaf.
"Do you think I'm trapped in my family?" Deathstroke asked.
Schiller stopped speculating, wiped his face with his hand, and said, "Looks like you won't come to your senses until this gets over. Do you really want me to tell you? To ask two different people to evaluate you in just one day? Do you really like extreme sports that much?"
Deathstroke didn't care about any of that. He sat down opposite Schiller with an air of being all ears, but at the same time, it was more like, "I'll keep sitting here until you say something."
Schiller sighed, waved his hand, and said, "Fine. Does your son know what you do?"
“He didn’t know before. But after this, he probably won’t be able to not know,” Deathstroke said. “His mother and I had a passionate relationship when we were young. Back then, she was just a bartender, and I was a handsome and rich guy in disguise. We both had ulterior motives, but we never expected that after we were honest with each other, we would find that we could accept each other’s terrible side. So we ended up where we are today.”
"And Joseph... his mother and I both agree that he's not the kind of person who would get involved in our lives when we were young. We fled from Cuba all the way to Argentina, and then crossed the Atlantic to Asia. Joseph couldn't even stand driving to the supermarket five miles from home."
"Did the two of you team up to keep it from him?"
“I wanted to say it, but his mother wouldn’t let me,” Deathstroke shook his head and said. “We’ve argued about it several times, but to no avail. Maybe she feels ashamed that I killed someone for money.”
"how about you?"
“The real dark side of my history is killing people and not getting paid,” Deathstroke said. “You know, I served in the U.S. Navy and Army, and I experienced the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I didn’t get a single penny from my excellent kill record. That was the biggest mistake I made when I was young.”
“Then let him know,” Schiller said. “I mean, you go see him. As Deathstroke, not as Mr. Wilson.”
“Wilson isn’t someone to be trifled with either,” Deathstroke emphasized. “I’m not the kind of father who spoils his kids. Joseph has always been a little afraid of me. That’s the main reason I haven’t dared to show myself in front of him as a mercenary. Wouldn’t he wet his pants in fear?”
Why do you think he's afraid of you? Have you ever hit him?
"When he went too far, I spanked him a couple of times. Then his mother ruined all my parenting plans. I don't think she should hold a grudge against me for that long, right?"
“Okay, put yourself in your son’s shoes. His father is rarely home and shows little concern for him and his mother. He never talks about his career but is always thinking about implementing his educational plan. This is definitely not the image of a likable father.”
After reflecting seriously for a moment, Deathstroke said, "Yes. I admit that. But I really can't spend more time with my family. The competition in this industry is too fierce. If you don't do it, there are plenty of people who will. Although I earn a lot from each deal, the retirement savings needed for someone like me to retire comfortably are even greater, and I haven't saved enough yet."
"You've missed the point. The point isn't how much time you spend with your family. It's that you never talk about your career."
“Good heavens. Is this wrong?” Deathstroke felt something was amiss. “I make money by killing. Is that something that can be discussed openly? Am I supposed to tell little Joseph that the teddy bear in his hand was actually obtained in exchange for the lungs of some defector corporate spy?”
“I’ve had enough,” Schiller said. “Can’t you bunch of psychopaths stop making everything so disgusting?”
Deathstroke was somewhat displeased: "What do you mean?"
"Let me tell you. When a normal person does something dishonorable, they usually have two choices. If they are a good person, they will feel deeply ashamed, repent, stop, and choose to compensate the victim. If they are not so kind, but rather selfish, they will try to shift the blame onto others, claiming it's all someone else's fault and that they were only forced into it. They will try every means to whitewash their actions, instead of describing their crime in detail to everyone. Only a madman would do that!"
The death knell was speechless. So was he really the one who was abnormal?
"You also have two choices. You can retire from crime, confess everything, sincerely repent, and make amends to the victims. Or you can try to make amends for yourself, describing to Joseph as much as possible the cruel human modifications you underwent, how the military used you and then discarded you, how you overcame the trauma of war to meet his mother, and how you had to get your hands dirty to support their family—is that really so difficult?"
“This is deception,” Deathstroke said.
"So when you were pursuing his mother, you never lied?"
Deathstroke was speechless again. Schiller spread his hands and said, "No one can see through you. Because if he joined the army now, he would get the exact same treatment. Isn't that right?"
"But how am I supposed to tell him? We can't even sit down and have a proper talk. Besides..."
"Besides, your male chauvinism won't allow you to complain to your son. You don't want to look pitiful. At least you're unwilling to do so voluntarily. So why don't you guide him to investigate?"
"guide?"
"That's not difficult. The guy who just tricked you managed to bring the Justice League together with just a few phone calls. And your kid is just an ordinary teenager, as you said, incapable of getting involved in anything decent."
Deathstroke covered his eyes and said, “That sounds like a solution. But the problem is he’ll think I’m dangerous and demand I stop.”
“That’s because he didn’t realize how powerful you are; you didn’t give him that opportunity,” Schiller said. “Sympathy and admiration usually can’t be given to the same person at the same time. But if you can, the bond between you will be unbreakable.”
“You mean, I’m going to guide my son to investigate my past. Deceive him with an undeniable lie, then appear before him as Deathstroke. Let him understand my power.” Deathstroke said, resting his chin on his hand. “I’m serious. You’re more of a psychopath than I am.”
“I’m just offering you an effective solution,” Schiller emphasized. “If you can execute this plan perfectly, the problem will be solved. As long as you don’t think about the underlying psychological principles or philosophical implications, everything will work.”
Deathstroke had to admit that confronting two Schillers in a single day should indeed be classified as an extreme sport. One emphasized principles without offering solutions, leaving one scratching their head in frustration. The other only provided solutions but demanded that one not ponder the principles behind these bizarre solutions. It was like simply pressing the nuclear button and leaving the rest to Earth.
The same question remains: Where did these two guys even come from?
It seems like Deathstroke is tormenting them, verbally harassing one and trying to kill another with a sword. But in reality, it's just the South Village kids taking advantage of my old age and weakness. It's only because Deathstroke is wearing a hood that he could pull out a handful of hair.
The torment lies in the fact that both the principles and methods sound so appealing. It's as if following these ideas and practices will solve all the problems.
But in reality, this is something only a madman would do. Deception, manipulation, kidnapping—these are not things a normal father and son should do. For Deathstroke, madness that is feasible is the most terrifying. Because he is inherently lacking, as Schiller said, he is mad by nature.
The death knell fell into deep thought, which gave Schiller a rare moment of quiet. But quiet times are always fleeting, for they truly had no way to completely bypass the Red Sea Guard. The small boat was soon spotted. And they were still quite far from Cairo.
The searchlights from the large ship shone down. Schiller's pupils contracted, his eyes turning almost colorless. He still had the patience to observe. Deathstroke, desperately looking for something to distract himself, had already leaped aboard, sword in hand.
Without a doubt, it was a warship. Mercenaries are typically bullies who prey on the weak. Even if no one could possibly defeat Deathstroke, he usually wouldn't prove his strength by provoking the authorities. Instead, like any of his cunning and experienced colleagues, he would avoid conflict and slip away unnoticed. Even if the target was on the ship, he would lie low, waiting for another opportunity.
But this time was different. Deathstroke seemed to have gone mad, leaping upwards with his greatsword in hand. Clearly, ordinary firearms were ineffective against the greatsword forged from a special metal. Schiller was simply surprised that he didn't seem to care about the coating this time. The weapon's power came at a price. The maintenance costs for even a minor graze from a bullet were enough to buy this old warship.
When a mercenary refuses to pay, you can be sure he's truly insane. But Schiller doesn't feel responsible for this. It's another bad precedent he set.
Schiller didn't board the ship; he simply took a sniper rifle and fired in short bursts. Because they were on the ship, he couldn't aim for heads, so he only managed to take down a few men. Deathstroke also held back, because they needed the ship.
It's impossible to cross the Red Sea with that small yacht. This warship is the best disguise, and if too many bodies are thrown overboard, people will discover there was an accident here. It's better to tie people up and lock them up. Maybe a few can be left outside to deal with inspections.
The tolling of the bells, one after another, knocked them unconscious. Only then did Schiller board the ship, tie the men up, and lock them in the galley. It was a relatively enclosed space. Once the outermost door was locked, no one could get out.
Having done all that, they finally had time to rest. That's how some tense situations are. They force action only at crucial moments, while the vast majority of the time is just pointless waiting. This is often more grueling than a fast-paced battle, and tests patience and willpower even more.
Schiller didn't think he lacked these things. But the biggest problem was that he wasn't alone waiting here. Once they entered the next round of waiting, Deathstroke would definitely have to talk to him again.
Sure enough, as soon as they closed the door to the kitchen area, Deathstroke said, "There's a satellite signal on the ship. Do you think... do you think I should make a phone call?"