RNP Chapter 4556 The Day of Brightest Day (5)
Chapter 4556 The Day of Brightest Day (5)
Chapter 4556 The Day of Brightest Light (Fifteen)
Whether it was World War I or World War II, whether it was the Verdun meat grinder or the Battle of Stalingrad, if you could single-handedly suppress an entire enemy force with just one gun, you would undoubtedly be a war hero. This was what Diana understood and pursued.
The front lines demand powerful, even more powerful firepower. At the same time, everyone must be made aware of the power of that firepower—or rather, whether it's truly powerful or not is unimportant; the key is to make the enemy believe that you cannot penetrate this area. This was also Diana's approach to weapon design.
Actually, the Colt Python's lethality isn't particularly outrageous; it could shatter an adult, but some shotguns can do the same. While it boasts unlimited ammo, fast reload, and reliability, a machine gun isn't out of the question either.
What makes this revolver truly unique compared to ordinary firearms is its enormous flash and sound. The flash aside, the sound is absolutely sonic, capable of injuring not only the shooter but also everyone around them, leaving them stunned.
Schiller now realizes that this may not be a byproduct of increasing power, but rather something Diana deliberately added, because what she wanted was the deterrent effect of this kind of group attack.
Clearly, she and Deathstroke should sit at the same table; they're both the kind of people who believe that the deterrent effect of violence is greater than violence itself. If something is frightening enough, it already possesses unparalleled power.
Realizing this, Schiller didn't even want to talk to Diana anymore, but unsurprisingly, Deathstroke became interested. As a professional mercenary, his ability to sell himself was terrifying.
He began to analyze the whole affair for Diana, including the arms dealer named Hessinger, the artifact he wanted to retrieve, and the pursuit along the way, explaining it in great detail.
Finally, he convinced Diana to give him one of these amazing things too. Before he could even recover from the excitement of acquiring such a superb weapon, he looked up and saw Schiller's death stare.
"You two seem to have similar interests. Are you glad we're not really husband and wife?"
"If she can really forge the perfect weapon for me, I will propose to it."
"it?"
"I'm referring to weapons."
This was truly a case of kindred spirits meeting. Schiller rolled his eyes inwardly, but secret agents wouldn't do that. They needed secrecy and efficiency, even at the cost of weapon reliability to avoid making noise. He thought Diana understood his assessment of revolvers, but she had misunderstood.
Deathstroke was clearly satisfied with the reward, returned to his professional field, and became reliable again. After abandoning his swearing, his analysis proved quite reasonable.
“I still think it’s impossible for you to get the artifacts back through normal negotiation, because the agreement has already been signed, and no one wants to cause any trouble. Egypt will definitely not be the end.”
"What do you mean?"
“Egypt is a major area for the forgery and laundering of cultural relics.” Deathstroke clearly knew this, saying, “There are enough cultural relics here, experts who dare to make judgments, and a complete industrial chain of cultural relic archaeology and restoration, but it is not a powerful and orderly country. It is simply a paradise for the black market of cultural relics.”
“If a piece of art is transported here, it will never be a triumphant return home. It will only be given a bath here, or carefully cut and restored. Its final destination will definitely be the private collection of some super-rich person in Eastern Europe or on the West Coast.”
"So you think that Hessinger does the same thing?"
“That’s right. Signing such a complicated contract would require a lot of money to bribe officials. An arms dealer wouldn’t do this without sufficient compensation. The only possibility is that he needs this artifact to curry favor with someone.”
"Who could it be?"
"It could be his partner, a government of a certain country, or even a competitor. It's hard to guess, and there's no need to dwell on it. The key is that the destination is definitely not in Egypt. In other words, this thing will only stay here for a very short time. Once it's taken out of Egypt, it will be difficult to find it again."
"So what's your plan?"
"I just want to advise you to give up on your plan to thoroughly investigate the interpersonal relationships behind it and then take advantage of the power struggles among various factions in Egypt to salvage the artifacts. It's definitely too late."
Why do you think I would do that?
“I think this might have been your original plan,” Deathstroke said. “I’ve seen too many spies, and every country’s spies have their own unique style of doing things. The CIA is especially notorious. I knew you were one of the best the moment I saw you.”
“Thank you for the compliment, but the flattery is off-target,” Schiller said. “I’m an FBI agent, not a CIA agent.”
"Of course I know, otherwise I wouldn't have used the same language I use to insult the police. Americans are all the same; whenever they show up in this area, their goal is always to incite conflict and create division. There's no other option."
“Okay, it might be a bit more direct than you think, but that’s the idea,” Schiller admitted. “I’ll do it as soon as possible, but if I don’t have time, then I’ll have to head to Europe.”
“This is somewhat unexpected,” Deathstroke said. “Usually, the same people are used to deal with the Middle East and Europe. Don’t tell me you have experience in both.”
What if I had all of these?
“Then you should have been silenced long ago,” Deathstroke said truthfully. “If you add Asia to that, you might be worth a plane crash.”
"How do you know I didn't?" Schiller laughed.
"So, you were indeed on that plane that just crashed." Deathstroke narrowed his eyes. He already knew about the plane crash on his way here; after all, such a large plane was sensational international news. However, judging from the crash site and the condition of the plane, the crash was not an accident; it was probably aimed at someone.
Schiller didn't continue, so Deathstroke had to say, "Alright, but I can't go back to Europe with you, or I might be hunted down from Spain to Iceland. Are you sure you can recover in the meantime?"
“If I were to stay in the hospital for more than half a month, I should be able to,” Schiller said. “But I obviously can’t do that, so we should really consider a quick victory in Egypt. Tell me about your plan.”
"My plan is simple: find them and rob them directly."
“It’s a real death knell,” Schiller offered a fair assessment, adding, “The only minor problem is that the research value of this artifact does not lie in the historical information it records.”
"Just say what you have to say."
"Simply put, that artifact has recently undergone some changes and acquired some mysterious properties. It's impossible to determine whether overly violent methods will have any impact on it, and these mysterious properties are the only reason for its recovery."
“Oh, this is troublesome.” Deathstroke stroked his temple. “If necessary, the arms dealer will destroy it, won’t he?”
“Nobody knows,” Schiller sighed. “Nobody even knows if he knows the true value of this piece, so it’s best not to provoke him or cause him to do anything rash, such as moving the piece too quickly in an unreasonable way and damaging it.”
"What exactly is that thing?" Deathstroke asked.
Is this important?
"Of course, the nature of what we're looking for depends on how we treat it; you at least need to give me some rough data."
“I’ll just have to call and ask,” Schiller said. “I don’t usually ask too many questions when I take on a job because the employer’s subjective judgment can have a negative impact. Employers like Batman are a minority.”
"Yeah, most people are like they're on their first dentist visit, vehemently denying they eat sweets, as if there's some moral high ground to be found in front of me. But don't you have your own sources of information?"
“I do,” Schiller answered briefly, then added in his mind, “but it’s highly likely that it came from the murderer.”
Schiller then called Diana to inquire about the characteristics of the artifact he was looking for. When he received the description of "a mural weighing about half a ton," "very likely" was crossed out and replaced with "certain."
Although the heinous act of memory alteration is currently limited to a single personality trait, and there's virtually no concealment involved, Schiller is quite certain that he can't be caught off guard by simply looking at memories. Given the other party's character, doing so would likely hasten his demise.
However, Schiller still tried to search the memory bank, and unsurprisingly, the search box was filled with a large amount of junk information. The information showed that it all happened in another universe, so much so that Schiller could not finish reading it in a short time.
Schiller snapped out of his daze and said to Deathstroke, "Alright, let's just rob them."
"Why did you suddenly change your mind?" Deathstroke asked curiously. He could tell that Schiller hadn't really agreed with the plan before. Schiller was the typical agent who valued professional skills rather than brute force, and he wasn't very accepting of a plan involving outright robbery.
"For some murderers, going through all the trouble of gathering information, devising plans, sowing discord, and searching for targets in a roundabout way may not even yield the same result as outright robbery."
“You’ve impressed me quite a bit,” Deathstroke said. “It seems you had an enemy who left a deep impression on you.”
"The only thing that leaves a deep impression on me is myself."
"Do you mean you've done something stupid in the past?"
Schiller stood up: "The stupidest thing I've ever done is try to bite my own tail."
Then they both went to rest, not because they didn't want to set off immediately, but because their injuries needed treatment. Deathstroke had a bullet lodged in his arm that needed to be removed. Schiller had a dislocated right arm and a fractured scapula that needed to be reset and immobilized.
According to Schiller himself, his current uncontrollable power stemmed primarily from his maladaptation to his non-dominant hand. Deathstroke merely scoffed at this, saying he'd never heard of someone turning into a train by switching their dominant and non-dominant hands.
“That’s interesting,” Deathstroke said, taking off the bodysuit from his arms. “You’re not very accepting of your out-of-control state, and it seems you’re trying to find a suitable reason for it.”
"Because it didn't bring me any benefit."
"This increases your power dozens of times over, isn't that a benefit? If it were me, I would carry that gun with me every day and make sure everyone has a place in the ocean that belongs to them."
“That depends on who you’re comparing it to,” Schiller said. “What if I said someone could control this power in a normal state, or even gain more? What do you think?”
“You shouldn’t ask me that, you should ask Newton,” Deathstroke said irritably. “I’d like to ask you if you have any objections to the Earth’s current orbit.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Schiller waved his hand, gripping his arm as if preparing to reset. “They can see much more, like… full-view perspective.”
“Oh, a train route map.” Deathstroke laughed again.
Schiller didn't continue speaking. Deathstroke had already made a mistake once by ignoring some of his warnings, and now it seemed this would certainly not be the last.