mtl008 Chapter 4597 The Day of Brightest Day (56)
Chapter 4597 The Day of Brightest Day (56)
Chapter 4597 The Day of Brightest Light (Fifty-Six)
Although Deathstroke didn't know how Schiller had tricked the Halls, it was best to complete his mission as soon as possible, as he was eager to get reimbursed by the Justice League.
With nothing to do that evening, Deathstroke imitated the conversation he had overheard between the Halls, recorded it, and sent it to a middleman who specialized in codebreaking investigations.
Having worked in this line of work for so many years, Deathstroke has accumulated a wide network of connections. He rarely conducts infiltration investigations; most of his intelligence comes from his employers. To execute missions more efficiently, he seeks out people to verify the authenticity of the intelligence. Since intelligence often encompasses various languages and information, he needs to find specialized intermediaries to have experts decipher it.
These people aren't actually mercenaries or assassins; most are internal staff of multinational translation organizations and have connections with the vast majority of linguistics experts in the world. They can find a way to decipher any language or script that exists in the world.
This time, however, the wait was exceptionally long. Even Deathstroke slept until the middle of the night before the other party sent a long string of messages. He thought it was deciphered content, but it turned out to be all guesses and interpretations.
The feedback from the other party was that this is not any common language in the world, not even a dead language like Latin. It sounds a bit like Coptic, but a certain dialect of this language is only used in the Christian church in Egypt and is almost lost.
Furthermore, this only dialect they use is very different from what they speak. They searched for experts all over the world, but no one could decipher its specific meaning; they could only guess based on its pronunciation.
One syllable was repeatedly mentioned, and it happened to be similar to a syllable in Arabic. This word means "priest" in Arabic.
Deathstroke immediately sensed something was wrong. He didn't think such words would be used in everyday conversation between a couple. Could these two be some kind of cult?
In normal circumstances, Deathstroke's true identity as the Hall couple isn't really relevant to him; after all, he's just a paid errand boy. However, these are turbulent times. If he really brings dangerous individuals to Justice League headquarters, and with Batman absent and everyone busy with their own tasks, the defenses are weak. If something goes wrong, Batman will definitely come after him when he returns.
He spent so much on clothing and equipment maintenance, yet he messed things up. If word gets out, he'll lose his title as the "Single King" with a 100% success rate.
You see, he had already planned to change careers. Changes inevitably involve growing pains; business might not be as good as before. If his reputation were further damaged, his entire career could plummet. This is something Deathstroke absolutely cannot accept.
Deathstroke couldn't sleep anymore. He jumped up and urged the middleman to find more experts to decipher what they were saying. He then went next door to wake Schiller and told him what he had found out.
"You think there's something wrong with those two?" Schiller thought for a moment and said, "They're heading to the Justice League headquarters. If they were really cultists, they wouldn't walk right into a trap, would they?"
“That’s not necessarily true. What if they were just there to cause trouble?” Deathstroke was getting increasingly uneasy. “Why is it such a coincidence that they were attacked as soon as I came to find them? And when I was dodging the bullets, I pulled Mr. Hall—you know how strong I am, I can grab an adult’s arm and throw him—but I couldn’t pull him very far. That’s obviously not normal.”
Are you sure it's not just your imagination?
Deathstroke shook his head. His overdeveloped brain had one obvious advantage: unlike a normal brain, he didn't filter out unimportant information but instead memorized it all. Therefore, he could clearly recall every detail of the scene he witnessed. He was certain that something was amiss when he went to Mr. LaHall.
“No.” Deathstroke started putting on his gear. “I need to go back to the art gallery and figure out what’s going on with those two. Are you coming with me?”
"I can keep watch for you and won't go in. That way, if you fail to infiltrate and are discovered, I won't be caught in the crossfire."
Deathstroke rolled his eyes: "You underestimate me. I don't infiltrate often, but I'm not so bad as to mess up something this small."
"Suit yourself." Schiller picked up the gun.
Public transportation was no longer available at night, so the two had to walk. Fortunately, it wasn't too far. When they arrived in the Maple Quarter, Schiller waited some distance from the art museum, while Deathstroke climbed over the wall into the courtyard.
Deathstroke wore only a tight-fitting suit, without armor or a greatsword. His weapons included an AR-15, a small pistol, and a Gurkha knife as a melee weapon.
He scaled the wall and landed in the courtyard, intending to wander around the art gallery and see if he could find a secret room or something. But as soon as he landed, on the right side of the art gallery courtyard, he saw a pair of shining eyes.
A lithe figure pounced like a beast. Deathstroke was startled, instinctively rolling to the side and drawing his pistol to aim at the attacker. By the moonlight, he could make out the man's appearance.
It was a fairly strong man, dressed in a suit of light, gold armor with a very retro style. Deathstroke felt he had seen him somewhere before, but couldn't quite place him. He wore a metal helmet with a small wing on each side, and a pair of large wings on his back. Even more terrifying, these wings were functional.
After rolling and crashing to the ground, Deathstroke turned and fired two shots at the ground. The man didn't even land; he flew low overhead, creating a gust of wind. A gleaming claw shot straight for Deathstroke's face.
Seeing the glint of light on the claws, Deathstroke sensed something was wrong. He didn't choose to take the blow head-on, but instead rolled away again, kicking the man's arm. The kick was so powerful that it caused the man to lose his balance and tumble through the air.
Deathstroke pressed his advantage, his Gurkha knife flashing coldly. He slashed at his opponent's wing, but the wing didn't seem to have grown from his own body. The slash, aside from losing two feathers, had no impact on his ability to fly.
Deathstroke crouched down to observe carefully, intending to find the other party's weakness, but he was stunned when his gaze fell on the other party's face.
The man's helmet only had a half-face visor, covering the upper half of his face. The helmet's shape was somewhat like an eagle, but the lower half of his face was exposed. Even Batman's hood was much more comprehensive; at least Batman's only showed his chin, while this man's entire lower half of his face was exposed.
"That's obviously Dr. Hall," Deathstroke thought with a cold laugh. "Playing the cultist, and even trying to show half their face. You really think they're afraid to expose Batman because they didn't recognize him?!"
Deathstroke wanted to call out his name to expose him, but then he thought that his voice during the day hadn't been disguised, and if he spoke now, the other person might recognize him anyway. So he simply remained silent and swung his sword again, sending the other person flying with the force of his blow.
The oddly dressed Dr. Hall seemed to realize he was no match for him. He let out a sharp cry—somewhat like an eagle's cry. Then, another figure flew out of the art gallery window.
Deathstroke looked back and exclaimed, "Good heavens! When husband and wife are of one mind, their strength can break metal! Isn't that Mrs. Hall? You can fly too?"
Mrs. Hall flew over and scratched Deathstroke. Then the two of them started communicating in that language again. Deathstroke couldn't understand it, but he could remember it. With more samples, maybe they could decipher what they were saying.
Deathstroke turned around, ready to fire. Mrs. Hall, recognizing him, was visibly startled, then quickly pulled Mr. Hall away. Deathstroke considered firing two shots as a chance, but considering the possibility of hitting his target and the potential for police attention, he decided against it.
Upon seeing Schiller again, Deathstroke couldn't help but complain, "I've never taken on an easy job. I thought this was just running errands, but it turns out there's more to it than meets the eye. I've had enough!"
Deathstroke told Schiller what had happened at the art museum. Schiller didn't show any surprise. He said, "Now that you've already appeared before them in Deathstroke's image, you can't go and relay messages to them anymore. Have you considered switching to a different client?"
"Is the issue now about transferring the order?" Deathstroke sighed. "I can't bring these two to the Justice League until I figure out what's going on with them. Otherwise, I'll be held responsible for anything that happens."
"I didn't realize you were such a responsible person."
“If Batman were never coming back, I wouldn’t be this cautious.” Deathstroke rubbed his forehead. “But we all know that even if he fell into a black hole at the center of the universe, he couldn’t possibly not come back. I can’t give him the opportunity to cause me trouble.”
"What are you going to do?"
“It might take a while,” Deathstroke said. “I need to figure out who they are and what they’re up to here before I can decide whether to bring them back.”
“My time is precious,” Schiller said calmly.
Even now, Deathstroke still hadn't developed the habit of seriously listening to every word Schiller said. He should have developed it much earlier. That way, when he observed the Halls' private art gallery through binoculars the next morning and saw Joseph among the visitors, his cursing wouldn't have been so loud.
"Holy crap! What the hell?!" Deathstroke was completely shocked. "How could Joseph be here?! Shouldn't he have already gone back to New Orleans?!"
Could it be that his graduation trip to Egypt was ruined, so he decided to travel to Midway City again? I think he mentioned before that he was interested in the Great Lakes region?
This somewhat naive guess was quickly dismissed. Joseph's methods of infiltrating were far more sophisticated than Deathstroke's. He quickly won over the Halls and went upstairs with them.
Deathstroke didn't even have time to change his gear. He didn't even have time to walk down the stairs; he jumped down directly, swung with a grappling hook, and landed on the roof of a building not far from the art gallery.
Just as he was about to jump into the art gallery, he saw Schiller standing on the street below. Schiller gestured to him, the movement of the bell paused, and Schiller had already climbed to the rooftop.
“I called him here,” Schiller said. “As soon as he heard you weren’t going to complete the mission, he rushed to Midway City as fast as he could. It was really touching.”
Before he could finish speaking, a greatsword was already at his neck. Deathstroke glared at him and said, "You knew perfectly well those two were dangerous! He couldn't handle them at all..."
“I’ve noticed that neither of you has a very accurate understanding of the other,” Schiller shook his head. “Your perspectives are just too heavily filtered.”