mtl008 Chapter 4589 The Day of Brightest Day (48)
Chapter 4589 The Day of Brightest Day (48)
Chapter 4589 The Day of Brightest Light (Forty-Eight)
It took Deathstroke about a second to accept the situation. Then he fired a grappling hook, which gripped the wall behind Schiller firmly, and Schiller jumped onto the hook and rushed to the door.
“What the hell?” Deathstroke said. “After you disappeared, the magic circle wouldn’t activate. I had to go back to the first pyramid and split it open, and then I fell into a strange room and had a lot of trouble getting out.”
Are there rooms with round discs?
“Exactly,” Deathstroke complained. “It’s all text and pictures; it took me ages to figure it out. What’s wrong with you?”
“It’s nothing,” Schiller said, shaking his head.
"Who do you think made this place?" Deathstroke asked as he and Schiller walked through the tomb passage. He muttered, "The real pyramids aren't like this, are they?"
"Of course not. The only person who could have designed such a puzzle was an ancient Egyptian."
"What do you mean?"
"If we were modern people, we would be facing a puzzle in pure English, an army of man-eating beetles, a mechanical tomb passage that breathes fire and flies hammers and axes, and a pharaoh mummy waiting for us to be resurrected at the end."
"Uh……"
Deathstroke thought about it, and realized that if he were designing these puzzles, these elements would probably be the key. It's just that Hollywood makes these kinds of movies. They don't care what ancient Egyptian culture was really like, as long as the plot is thrilling, exciting, and bizarre enough.
But in reality, the puzzles along the way weren't very exciting; they were mostly repetitive tasks. Moreover, the ancient Egyptian writing and murals, the scarabs that just happened to pass by, and the jumping puzzles with absolutely no mechanical elements—it's clear they haven't been influenced by modern video games. Anyone who's played modern video games would know that behind the tomb door you'd be faced with a three-dog attack—one pounce, two bites, three charges—a triple blow that would send you straight home.
"Could it really be some resurrected pharaoh's ghost?" Deathstroke said, looking around. "But why are they bothering us? Is it because we attracted a meteorite and woke him up from his sleep?"
"First, the meteorite might not have been brought here by us. Second, the pharaoh probably wouldn't have turned his tomb into an amusement park. Finally, we've got some work to do again."
They looked at the tomb chamber before them, which was essentially a combination of the previous levels. A full moon hung from the dome above, casting its shadow on the ground. A rotating disc and floating steps indicated that they would need to solve some dynamic puzzles.
“Good heavens,” Deathstroke said, slapping his forehead. “I don’t think this is something we two crabs can handle.”
“It’s alright, let’s solve it,” Schiller said.
Deathstroke looked at him with a hint of suspicion. Why was he being so amiable? From what he knew, this agent hated wasting time, especially on meaningless, repetitive tasks. Why was he being so agreeable this time? Could he really be interested in Egyptian culture?
However, since Schiller had already made his stance clear, Deathstroke couldn't very well refuse; he still owed him a favor. Solving the puzzle was fine too; at least the equipment wouldn't wear out.
Actually, the two of them worked quite well together. They're both quick-witted and have incredibly fast instincts. With just a little practice, their teamwork was remarkably smooth. They solved the puzzle after only two or three tries.
Once the puzzle was solved, all the steps fell to the ground, the disc stopped spinning, and the room fell silent. The full moon then began to shine.
The moon grew brighter and brighter until a soft white light filled the entire room. In the white light, a figure slowly descended and hovered above the dome.
Deathstroke watched as Schiller pulled out a revolver, loaded all six bullets, and raised the gun.
boom!!!!!!!!
Although Deathstroke had put on a mask and covered his ears before he fired, the deafening roar was far beyond his expectations. He could clearly feel his ears bleeding.
Now he understood why Schiller wasn't angry; the agent had figured out how to combine six shots into one—you can set up countless puzzles, but I only need to fire one.
The figure that had been slowly coalescing above the dome was once again shattered. The moon went out instantly. The death knell only heard the crisp sound of a pile of parts hitting the ground.
Because of his familiarity with killing, Deathstroke could tell that what was falling to the ground did not seem to be flesh and blood, nor souls, but rather a pile of bones.
This is a bit creepy. Could it be that the Pharaoh has really been resurrected?
At that moment, Schiller stepped into the darkness, bent down, and picked up something. When he came out, he startled Deathstroke, for what he was holding was the skull of a falcon.
“Konso,” Schiller called his name, “you have three seconds to tell me why you’re here…”
The falcon's beak twitched, making a clicking sound. Only after Schiller pulled the revolver's barrel from the beak did a deep, resonant sound fill the room.
"Mortal, why have you trespassed into the Moon Goddess's domain...?"
With a "click," the cannon barrel was shoved back in. Schiller said, "Skip all the lines. Otherwise, you can say goodbye to your beak."
"Cough cough... Take that thing away..." Kong Su roared in a low voice, "Who built this cannon for you?!"
Deathstroke, gloating from the sidelines, said, "The Justice League. Righteous enough, aren't they?"
"Cough cough cough... Let me go first..."
Schiller released his grip, and countless bones coalesced. Moonlight transformed into a silvery ribbon, draping his tall figure in a robe. His cane materialized in a gust of wind. He gently tapped the floor, and the moonlight returned.
The bird's beak opened wide, then closed again. It seemed to be trying to recall its lines, but then forgot them in its nervousness.
“Let’s go to the moon,” Kong Su said, “to the far side of the moon.”
“Let’s go.” Schiller turned and walked away, gun in hand. Consuelo quickly raised his staff to stop him, then said, “Aren’t you going to ask why?”
Before he could finish speaking, the cannon barrel nearly shoved into his mouth again. Kong Su quickly raised his hands in surrender. Schiller holstered his gun and said, "I'll let bygones be bygones for your skipping all the lines. Otherwise..."
"I have nothing more to say," Kong Su quickly said. "Let's go. Your car is right outside, and it's already full of gas."
Schiller walked out carrying the death knell. There was no complicated layout at the exit, just a single road. The door opened, and the car was already parked there, the gas tank full.
"Who is that guy?" Deathstroke asked as he got into the car.
"Kongsu. Simply put, she is the moon goddess in African mythology."
Why is he here?
"How would I know."
“You seem to know him quite well,” Deathstroke said.
"How did you figure that out?" This time, Schiller was driving. He stepped on the gas, and the bright moonlight began to dim. They reappeared on the road, with the massive pyramids faintly visible on the horizon, as if they were still on their way to the Giza Plateau, and that everything that had just happened was just a dream.
Upon reaching the vicinity of the Giza Plateau, the police had indeed already surrounded the area. A meteorite had landed between two pyramids, but fortunately, it wasn't large and caused little damage, completely disproportionate to the commotion it had made. The police were also dispersing the crowds who had gathered to watch the spectacle.
Deathstroke pulled out his binoculars and glanced inside. The meteorite's shape was peculiar, like a miniature moon. He immediately thought of Schiller's description of the moon goddess. "So we were just in there?"
"It may just be due to the radiation from the meteorite," Schiller said. "Fortunately, we have obtained new clues, so the effort was not in vain."
“What kind of new clue is this?” Deathstroke said. “He wants you to go to the moon to find him. How do you plan to get there? Contact NASA?”
Schiller looked at him like he was an idiot and said, "What, does Wonder Woman need a rocket to go to the moon?"
Deathstroke was taken aback. He said, "You're just going to hand in the mission like this? Without even a receipt? Do you think the Justice League will listen to your nonsense?"
Schiller sighed and said, "I really don't know how you became the world's number one mercenary. If I were in this line of work, your position would be in jeopardy."
Deathstroke snorted in dissatisfaction, staring intently at Schiller, seemingly wanting to hear his opinion. But Schiller said nothing, simply driving back to the Egyptian Museum.
They then arrived at the Tutankhamun gallery. The fresco still stood there silently. Schiller stepped forward, took out a knife, and with one stroke pried it off a piece of rock from the fresco.
"Hiss..." Deathstroke gasped. "What are you doing? This is..."
He had intended to say, "This is an artifact." But he suddenly realized that it wasn't an artifact at all; it was a fake Schiller had created. History was probably less than six months old—purely new, undisputedly new.
As the creator of the artifact, no one was more qualified to edit it than Schiller. The death knell watched as Schiller took a knife and carved a moon pattern where the snake's eyes were, and also drew some patterns resembling moonlight.
Then, he used a knife to cut the round moon in half, removing one half and even carving it into a dent. This made that part appear darker in color than the rest, like the far side of the moon.
Then he drew some floating little figures near the moon. They didn't look like humans because their heads were too big and their bodies were too small. They looked more like some kind of aliens, praying to the moon.
"Alright." Schiller dusted off the crumbs from his hands, glanced at them from a distance, and said, "Isn't this evidence enough?"
Deathstroke remained silent. He understood that, compared to a diligent mercenary like himself, Schiller was more like the kind of assassin who could create chaos, forcing employers to come to him for trouble, and then, since he himself had created the chaos, he could simply sit in his office, photocopy all the documents, and hand them in.
What's even more frightening is that Schiller wasn't alone, but part of a gang. They could create trouble one person at a time, and resolve it another; threaten their employers one person, and protect them another; create evidence one person, and destroy it another. They profited from both upstream and downstream, creating limitless profits by biting their own tails.
Deathstroke had to admit that if Schiller really intended to do that, he might not be able to keep his position as the number one mercenary.