Days as a Spiritual Mentor in American Comics-Chapter 5566 - 592: The Day of Ultimate Purity (12)

Chapter 5566: Chapter 592: The Day of Ultimate Purity (12)

Now, Shiller’s curiosity had surpassed the desire for killing. In fact, Deathstroke had no real craving for violence. He didn’t see himself as an out-of-control violent machine—that evaluation had too strong a negative attribute, and Deathstroke only saw it as a mockery.

About twenty seconds later, Deathstroke deeply understood one principle: the essence of the human race is to measure others by oneself. Humans cannot imagine evaluations of fields they have never ventured into.

Out of curiosity, Deathstroke agreed to Shiller’s plan. This was a decision he regretted most over the next few days. Deathstroke felt Shiller was just stubbornly trying to achieve his value. After all, the situation at the door didn’t look like one person could kill their way out. Although Deathstroke was very confident in himself, if Shiller insisted on doing this, it wasn’t unfeasible; they could still trade him medicine in exchange for more intelligence later.

By then, he had already noticed that Shiller had developed a high fever. It was a sign of a complete breakdown of the temperature regulation system. And his fragile eardrums could no longer withstand the torment of that Hand Cannon. Probably, it would take just one last shot for him to become completely deaf, and he feared that recovery was hopeless for days.

With a loud "bang," the battle commenced. Deathstroke wielded his Two-handed Sword and charged out. This was originally a one-sided carnage. He feared no bullets; his twin swords danced in his hands, leaving a trail of blood mist as he went, and the Regular Army retreated step by step.

But the enemy was obviously not that simple. Soon, with a "clang," one of the Two-handed Swords meant to block bullets snapped. Deathstroke raised an eyebrow and rolled on the spot to dodge the next bullet. There was a sniper each in the North and Southeast, both using large-caliber anti-material sniper rifles. They really thought highly of him.

The opponent must have used special bullets, since his two swords, though not made of special Metal, were also very strong. The impact could cause his movements to pause slightly, but breaking directly meant something was definitely tampered with.

In a moment of hesitation, the soldiers immediately surrounded his flank. Deathstroke caught sight of this from the corner of his eye and, just as he reached back to draw his Great Sword, saw that those soldiers were falling at an abnormal speed.

Another figure’s speed was even more unusual. After watching for three seconds and using years of tactical experience to judge, Deathstroke was more inclined to believe he had seen a Ghost.

Normally, a Heavy Armor Warrior with a larger Body Type wouldn’t be very fast. If holding a giant Longsword, they’d be easily assumed to be clumsy. Deathstroke had used this inaccurate common sense judgment to chop off countless heads. This top Mercenary’s greatest advantage was being both big and fast. With a tall Body Type and an imposing weight class, yet agile as a snake, quick as a specter.

Deathstroke thought he was already unscientific enough, only to find there were masters beyond him. Just because someone has muscles doesn’t mean they’re fast, but without muscles, speed is unreachable. Explosive power requires ample muscle support. Clearly, Shiller didn’t have that muscle mass.

He seemed rather lean, not to the point of being unhealthy, but not like a warrior either. No one would doubt if he said he was clerical staff. His body structure simply couldn’t support such explosive speed. But unbelievably, he moved like a phantom.

Deathstroke didn’t see what weapon he used; in fact, he didn’t need any weapon. With that speed, he was no different from an oncoming train. Just as this thought occurred, he was knocked flying by this train.

"Oh, shit!" he cursed, rolling on the ground before standing up. "Can’t you watch where you’re going?!"

He raised his Great Sword to block another sniper bullet. This time the bullet deflected off, shooting into an enemy’s chest. He decapitated two more before realizing Shiller’s state seemed a bit off.

Deathstroke opened his mouth to shout, but then realized he didn’t know what to call out. Yelling "Blue-skinned Dog" in this situation would probably turn the train into a high-speed rail.

"Stop!" Deathstroke shouted. But as soon as he said it, he remembered — this guy was probably already deaf. "God..."

Deathstroke already had a bad feeling. He realized some of Shiller’s previous words were not in jest. The truth is always hidden within the moth’s antennae.

He swung his sword to fend off two incoming enemies. To be honest, these guys were no longer much trouble for him. He had to stop Shiller and prevent him from rushing into the city.

Deathstroke wasn’t someone who cared about civilians, otherwise he wouldn’t have become a hitman. The innocents who died at his hands over the years were countless. But if he caused a commotion and alerted the Egyptian authorities, prompting them to send the Regular Army to hunt this Monster and create chaos in the city, his mission might fail.

With a "clang," he blocked another bullet. Those damn snipers annoyed Deathstroke the most. Enemies were falling rapidly in front of him, not entirely his doing. Deathstroke dared to bet at least three unluckies were accidentally shot while the snipers aimed at Shiller.

Deathstroke assessed the position, preparing to deal with the snipers first. Yet he underestimated Shiller’s indiscriminate enemy identification. Just as he was about to exit the battlefield, the grip of a revolver smashed into his shoulder.

"Damn it!" Deathstroke couldn’t refrain from cursing. His shoulder blade must have shattered — where did this guy get such Strength?!

He turned, kicking Shiller’s arm aside, then stretched to grab his neck. But Shiller dodged with incredible dexterity, firing at Deathstroke’s hand.

With ordinary firearms, Deathstroke wouldn’t even dodge. He was in full Armor, with protective gear on his hands and wrists. The stopping power of a large-caliber revolver was good, but it would only make him pause, not enough to require evasion.

But this Tank’s main cannon was different. Deathstroke quickly raised his hand and tightened his grip on the Great Sword. With a deafening "clang——!!!!!" both flew backward.

After standing up, Deathstroke had a look as if he’d seen a ghost. His sword!

Of course, the sword wasn’t broken. But the coating on the outside was completely ruined. Most importantly, he had still underestimated the power of that gun. Now his right hand was numb from the shock.

Shiller wasn’t much better off. Because the bullets had a homing feature, they didn’t reflect back on him. But the impact from the air current was still deadly enough, flipping him over onto the ground.

A great opportunity. Deathstroke grabbed his sword and rushed forward. Not to slash Shiller, but to suppress him directly with this opportunity. Considering the differences in their body types and weight classes, this wasn’t all that difficult.

But Deathstroke was still very cautious. He didn’t use any ground techniques directly, fearing being countered by Shiller. Instead, he pressed his whole body forward with the great sword in front of him. This way, he could use gravity to suppress the opponent, and the sharp blade rendered Shiller’s limb skills ineffective.

The plan was good. But Deathstroke never expected that he would be sent flying.

To be precise, Shiller threw him off. To know that Shiller was currently lying on the ground, this wasn’t a bear hug or an over-the-shoulder throw. The opponent grabbed the arm Deathstroke apologetically, then rolled sideways and tossed him aside.

When Deathstroke stood up again, his mindset had shifted slightly. Fine. Let’s see which one of us is the real violent machine!

He sheathed the great sword on his back and lunged at Shiller, seemingly wanting to compete in ground skills. Little did he know, Shiller rolled away again, grabbing the sword from his back as he did.

Deathstroke flipped and kicked. Shiller blocked with the sword, and Deathstroke finally understood what Shiller meant by not being skilled with cold weapons. Simply put, he wasn’t treating it as a bladed weapon at all, but rather as a fire poker. There was no technique, just smashing. Deathstroke didn’t even know whether to feel sorry for the sword’s hilt or the armor’s coating.

"Clang!!!" Another hit. Deathstroke couldn’t take it anymore and kicked Shiller’s wrist. This forced him to drop the great sword but then grabbed the revolver again.

Now Deathstroke knew he couldn’t go head to head. He rolled past from the side, picked up his sword, and had no time to check its condition before dodging another shot. After that came bang bang bang bang bang bang bang.

Deathstroke thought his weapon knowledge was flawed. Wasn’t the Colt Python supposed to only have six rounds? The bullets’ homing should also take time, right?!

Then he realized; the great gunsmith had added six extra rounds to this cannon and an auto-reload function. Meaning that as long as you could handle the negative effects, you could fire this gun infinitely.

Deathstroke really wanted to curse. Would you be afraid of a machine gun tank barrel? Well, he was. Rolling continuously on the ground to dodge, he figured he needed to disarm Shiller first.

He actually found a perfect opportunity. A sniper bullet forced Shiller to retreat. Deathstroke seized the moment to slash, cornering Shiller. Then, just as Shiller was about to raise his gun, he switched from slashing to swatting, striking Shiller’s right arm with a big swing. The impact was so powerful that Shiller’s right hand got dislocated, dropping the gun to the ground.

Before Deathstroke could even catch his breath, Shiller took advantage of the moment when he collected his sword to move behind him, locking his neck with his left arm.

Neck locks should not be used on opponents with a significant weight class difference. With enough weight, it’s entirely possible to grab the opponent’s arm and counter-throw them. Aside from that initial moment of restricting the opponent’s movement, it’s all downsides.

But the problem was, that initial squeeze was too powerful. Deathstroke could almost hear his spine crackle. A loud curse bubbled up inside him. He quickly flung Shiller forward.

Just his luck, another sniper bullet came at that moment. Deathstroke had no choice but to adjust his body to avoid a vital hit as best he could. With a "bang," the high-power anti-materiel sniper rifle bullet pierced through the armor and inner fiber layer, drilled through the muscle of his left arm, and got caught up right on the bone.

He was not sure if he was the most violent machine, but sure as hell the toughest. Even as Deathstroke pinned Shiller down, his mind was a whirl of random thoughts. Seemed active, but really he was out of moves.

He had just pressed down when he realized Shiller’s strength seemed greater than before. The strongest mercenary couldn’t help but laugh. Office worker, my ass. If he’d known earlier, he wouldn’t have saved that anti-inflammatory shot!

Deathstroke braced himself for another shot, managing to pin Shiller for a second. Then he pulled a sedative from his waist and jabbed it into Shiller’s neck. Between the sedative taking effect, he got flipped away again. Thankfully, Shiller eventually calmed down.

Deathstroke really wanted to turn and leave. But the problem was, there were still two damn snipers aiming at them. If he didn’t take Shiller with him, a shot would wake Shiller right up. By then, he couldn’t leave either.

With no options left, Deathstroke could only hoist Shiller onto his shoulder. After rushing out onto the street, he slashed through a lamppost, causing a commotion, and quickly vanished into the crowd.