Chapter 4557

Deathstroke stood there, stunned. Shiler began to speculate on his own, speaking roughly of things like the "Multiverse," the "Power of the Seven Lights," and the "Emotional Spectrum," but Deathstroke didn't actually take any of it in, as though he were the one who had gone deaf.

"Do you think I'm trapped in my family?" Deathstroke asked.

Shiler stopped his speculation, couldn't help but wipe his face with his hand, and then said: "It seems that if this hurdle isn't cleared, you won't be able to snap out of it. Do you really need me to say it? In the span of a single day, having two of me evaluate what kind of person you are. Do you like extreme sports that much?"

Deathstroke didn't care about any of that. He sat down brazenly across from Shiler, putting on an expression of listening intently, but at the same time, it looked more like, "If you don't say something, I'm just going to keep wasting time here."

Shiler was helpless; he waved his hand and said: "Fine. Does your son know you do this?"

"He didn't before. But after this time, I'm afraid it'll be hard for him not to know," Deathstroke said. "His mother and I had a passionate time when we were young. Back then, she was just a bartender, and my cover identity was handsome and wealthy. We both had our own agendas, but unexpectedly, after we were honest with each other, we found we could both accept each other's horrors. And so, we arrived at today."

"And Joseph... his mother and I both agree that he isn't the type of person who can be dragged into the life we lived when we were young. We once fled all the way from Cuba to Argentina, and then crossed the Atlantic to Asia. And Joseph can't even stand driving five miles from home to the supermarket."

"You two teamed up to keep it from him?"

"I wanted to tell him, but his mother wouldn't let me," Deathstroke shook his head and said. "We argued about it several times, but it never led anywhere. Perhaps the fact that I kill for money makes her feel ashamed."

"And what about you?"

"The fact that I kill people and don't even get paid for it is my dark history," Deathstroke said. "You know, I served in the U. S. Navy and Army, and experienced the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I didn't get a single cent from my excellent kill record. That is the biggest mistake I made when I was young."

"Then let him know," Shiler said. "I mean you going to see him. As Deathstroke, not as Mr. Wilson, the good guy."

"Wilson isn't someone to be trifled with either," Deathstroke emphasized. "I'm not the kind of father who coddles his children. Joseph has always been a bit afraid of me. This is also the main reason I don't dare to show my face in front of him as a mercenary. He'd probably pee his pants, wouldn't he?"

"Why do you think he's afraid of you? Have you hit him?"

"When he went too far, I spanked him twice. Then his mother ruined all my educational plans. I don't think he'd hold a grudge against me for that long, would he?"

"Alright, look at it from your son's perspective. His father is away from home all year round and lacks concern for him and his mother. He refuses to talk about his career, yet he's always thinking about implementing his own educational plans. This is definitely not the image of a likable father."

Deathstroke reflected seriously for a moment, then said: "Yes. I admit that. But I really have no way to spend more time with my family. The competition in this line of work is too fierce. If you don't do it, there are plenty of others who will. Although I earn a lot per job, the pension needed for someone like me to retire securely is even higher; I haven't saved enough yet."

"You missed the point. The point isn't how much time you have to spend with your family. It's that you refuse to talk about your career."

"Good God. Is that really wrong?" Deathstroke felt it was somewhat unreasonable. "I earn money by killing people. Is this something that can be discussed openly? Do you want me to tell little Joseph that the teddy bear in his hands was actually exchanged for the lungs of some defecting commercial spy?"

"I've really had enough," Shiler said. "Can you psychopaths stop making everything so disgusting?"

Deathstroke was a bit dissatisfied: "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 deep guilt, repent, then stop, and choose to compensate the victim. If they aren't that kind, but rather selfish, they will find a way to push the blame onto others, claiming that it was all someone else's fault and that they were just forced into it. They will try every possible way to whitewash their behavior. Instead of describing their criminal process in detail to everyone. That's what a madman would do!"

Deathstroke was speechless. So, was he really the one who wasn't normal?

"You also have two choices. Wash your hands of it and confess everything, sincerely repent, and compensate the victims. Or find ways to make excuses for yourself, describing to Joseph as much as possible what cruel human experimentation you underwent, how the military used you and then discarded you like trash, how you walked out of the trauma of war to meet his mother, and how you had to stain your hands with blood to support their family—is that really so hard?"

"That's deception," Deathstroke said.

"Then when you were pursuing his mother, did you never lie?"

Deathstroke was speechless again. Shiler spread his hands and said: "No one can expose you. Because if he joins the military now, he will receive the exact same treatment. Won't he?"

"But how am I supposed to tell him? We can't even sit down and have a proper talk. Besides..."

"Besides, your chauvinism doesn't allow you to complain to your own son. You don't want to make yourself look pathetic. At least you aren't willing to do it voluntarily. Then can't you guide him to investigate?"

"Guide?"

"This isn't hard. The guy who just played you once used a few phone calls to guide the Justice League together. And your child is just an ordinary teenager, as you said, without the ability to get involved in any decent whirlpool."

Deathstroke covered his eyes and then said: "That sounds like a way. But the problem is that he will think I'm dangerous and then demand that I stop."

"That's because he doesn't realize how powerful you are; you didn't give him that chance," Shiler said. "Sympathy and worship usually cannot be bestowed upon the same person at the same time. But if you can achieve it, the bond between you will be unbreakable."

"You mean, I should guide my son to investigate my past. Blind him with a lie that cannot be debunked. And then go see him in the guise of Deathstroke. Let him understand my power," Deathstroke said, resting his chin on one hand. "I'm serious. You're more of a psychopath than I am."

"I'm just providing you with an effective solution," Shiler emphasized. "If you can execute this plan perfectly, then the problem will be solved. As long as you don't think about the psychological principles or philosophical implications hidden behind it. Everything will work."

Deathstroke had to admit that the activity of facing two Shilers in one day should indeed be classified as an extreme sport. One of them emphasized principles but gave no plan, leaving people scratching their heads and restless. The other only gave solutions but demanded that people not think about the principles behind these bizarre solutions. It was like just pressing the nuclear button and leaving the rest to the Earth.

Still the same question. Which field did these two guys grow out of?

It seemed like Deathstroke was torturing them, harassing one with words and trying to hack the other to death with a sword. But in reality, it was still the children of the South Village bullying me for being old and weak. It was lucky Deathstroke was wearing a mask now, otherwise, a handful of his hair could have been pulled out.

The torture lay in the fact that whether it was principles or methods, they all sounded so moving. It was as if you followed such thoughts and practices, all problems would be solved.

But in reality, this is what a madman would do. Deception, manipulation, kidnapping—this is simply not what a normal father and son should do. For Deathstroke, crazy but feasible is the most terrifying thing. Because he is naturally lacking, just as Shiler said, inherently crazy.

Deathstroke fell into deep thought, which gave Shiler a rare moment of quiet. But quiet times are always short. Because they really had no way to completely bypass the Red Sea guards. This small boat was soon discovered. And now they were still a long way from Cairo.

The searchlight from the large ship shone over. Shiler's pupils contracted, his eyes turning almost colorless. He still had the patience to observe. Deathstroke, urgently wanting to find something to distract himself, had already swung his greatsword and jumped up.

Without a doubt, that was a warship. Mercenaries are usually bullies who pick on the weak. Even if it were impossible for anyone to defeat Deathstroke, he usually wouldn't prove his strength by provoking the authorities, but would, like any of his cunning and experienced peers, avoid conflict and sneak away. Even if the mission target were on the ship, he would lie in wait and wait for another opportunity.

But this time was different. Deathstroke acted as if he had gone crazy, swinging his greatsword and jumping up. Obviously, ordinary firearms were ineffective against that greatsword cast from special metal. Shiler was just surprised that he didn't care about the coating this time. The power of this weapon came at a price. The maintenance cost required for being scratched by a bullet was enough to buy this old warship.

When a mercenary doesn't even want money, you can be sure he's truly crazy. But Shiler didn't feel he needed to be responsible for this. It was the other self who started it.

Shiler didn't board the ship, just took a sniper rifle and fired single shots. Because they were on a ship, he couldn't aim for the head. So he just knocked down a few people. Deathstroke also showed mercy. Because they needed this ship.

It was impossible to cross the Red Sea in that small yacht. This warship was the best disguise, and if too many corpses were thrown into the sea, people would discover that an accident had occurred here. It was better to tie people up and lock them away. Maybe they could even leave a few outside to deal with inspections.

Deathstroke knocked them out one by one. Then Shiler boarded the ship and tied the people up and locked them in the kitchen. That was a relatively closed environment. As long as the outermost door was locked, no one could get out.

After doing all this, they had time to rest again. Some tense situations are just like this. They make people only able to act at key nodes, while the vast majority of the time is wasted in hopeless waiting. This is often more grueling than fast-paced combat and tests patience and willpower more.

Shiler considered himself not lacking in these. But the most troublesome thing was that he wasn't the only one waiting here. Once they entered the next round of waiting, Deathstroke would definitely want to talk to him again.

Sure enough, just as they locked the kitchen area door, Deathstroke said: "There's a satellite signal on the ship, do you think... do you think I should make a call?"