This series of actions left Deathstroke speechless. It's only a few meters high, is this necessary?
But then he suddenly recalled how Shiller's poor state could paradoxically be a good state. He felt this distance might be dangerous after all. He should find something to support him, just in case he falls into a frenzy, there's nowhere to hide in the elevator shaft.
Opening the bottom floor elevator door was easy; it didn't even require a sword to cut open. Deathstroke could pull it open with his hands. He wedged his fingernails into the crack and exerted a bit of force, and the door gracefully slid open.
However, that dean was indeed cunning; he placed an alarm device outside the door. The moment the door was opened irregularly, all the machines began to blare simultaneously and the lights completely went out.
"Be careful," Xile said to Deathstroke.
"Shouldn't you be the one to be careful?" Deathstroke wasn't joking, he said, "I assume you don't have night vision, and now you're in a state of hearing loss. If any enemies really come charging out, can you handle it?"
"You do have a point." To Deathstroke's surprise, Shiller didn't make excuses or come up with some incredible solution; he just nodded in acknowledgment.
"So what's your plan..."
Shiller suddenly turned around. His gray eyes glowed in the dim corridor. "Change of personnel."
This time, Deathstroke acutely sensed something. Shiller quickly stood straight, surveyed the surroundings, and then noticed the clothes he was wearing.
"Oh, this is quite nice."
"You..."
"Long time no see." Shiller turned back smiling and said, "What happened last time was my fault. I'm glad to see you've found a solution."
This put a halt to what Deathstroke was about to say. He opened his mouth but felt unable to complain further. So he said, "So you're changing personnel now?"
Shiller nodded and said, "It's not really bad people, just different traits. Of course, if you can't figure it out, you can consider it a change of personnel."
After speaking, he put one hand in his pocket and walked deeper into the corridor. Deathstroke hurried to catch up and then asked, "Can you really see?"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know, just everything." Deathstroke said, "You said last time you saw the murderer. How did you see them?"
"It's certainly not through appearance," Shiller said, "Emotions? Feelings? However you interpret it. But anyway, it's some abstract, indescribable things. If you haven't seen them, you'll never understand."
"Alright, I'll just consider it a broad mind-reading ability," Deathstroke said, "Since he said you used to work at the museum, what were you doing there?"
"Are you trying to ask me, why didn't I go find that artifact since I was already at the museum?"
Deathstroke nodded, and Shiller continued, "Why should I go find it?"
"But you...," Deathstroke got to this point and suddenly recalled Shiller once told him about "self-conflict," "You're not enemies, are you?"
"No, not to that extent," Shiller's tone was very relaxed, he said, "That fresco is all made by me. Why should I go to find it?"
"...What?" Deathstroke suspected he misheard.
And Shiller didn't have any interest in repeating or explaining it in detail. He continued walking inside and suddenly stopped, found a room, pushed open the door, and walked in. Soon, a team of security guards hurried past, shouting something.
The accent of these people's Arabic wasn't so heavy; Deathstroke could roughly understand. Anyway, they were saying something about an intruder.
This raised suspicions for Deathstroke too. Generally speaking, if there's an unexpected guest in the museum, most people would think it's a robber or a thief. What the heck is "intruder"? This isn't some noble's private territory, though it might be indeed.
With just this short title, Deathstroke realized that troublesome Hayven could very likely be right there. Just protecting artifacts wouldn't warrant such a quick response from security.
"Caught a big fish," Deathstroke said.
"Indeed," Shiller smiled, seemingly very satisfied.
The subsequent journey went unbelievably smoothly; they hardly encountered any security guards, or evaded them before being noticed. This was actually very difficult.
The entire underground second floor was large, with not only the storage room but many other office areas as well. The opposing side had sufficient manpower. The pursuers and patrolmen were separate, making 'luring the tiger out of the mountain' hardly successful. Deathstroke figured if he were to do this, he'd inevitably have to kill a few people. But Shiller evaded them all.
Now, Deathstroke was increasingly convinced Shiller could indeed see something. However, he was still struggling to think about Xile's previous nonsense. And such pondering obviously wouldn't yield any result, because it couldn't be called nonsense, it was more like sleep-talking. What does it mean that the fresco was made by him???
With a "bang," the door was pushed open. Shiller directly ignored dozens of guns placed around the long table and, despite the nasty expressions of the two men standing at the room's end, swaggered into the room.
"Shiller!" One of the short, stout men widened his eyes and said, "Weren't you supposed to have left Cairo?!"
Another tall and thin Arab man, wrapped in a headscarf, didn't look as surprised, but his expression was still grim.
"Hayven, it seems you're surprised that I'm not dead," Shiller looked at the Arab man and said, "Sorry to disappoint you. How's the 'Frenes Snake'?"
"You damn bastard!!!" The short, fat man was the first to speak, "You messed up the temperature control, causing most of my goods to be destroyed. And you still have the nerve to bring it up?!"
"You wanted to leave me and take everything for yourself. Without teaching you a lesson, how would you understand the value of sincerity?" Shiller sneered, "And now? Besides the snake, what decent stuff do you have left?"
The two stood there with cold faces, saying nothing. The amount of information in this exchange was overwhelming, and Deathstroke needed a moment to digest it.
So, Shiller was involved from the beginning. The mural artifact coming here was related to him. But something must have happened in between, possibly a fallout with the arms dealer. He left the group, even leaving Cairo.
And the museum director had some sort of grudge with him that even led them to hire someone to kill him. It's probably because of this pursuit that he left Cairo. But unfortunately, one left and another came. Since they looked identical, these guys witnessed a person transform right in front of them.
It's undeniably intimidating. Deathstroke thought that if someone did such a transformation in front of him, he'd probably think they had godlike foresight and the ability to change the course of events.
"Alright. Since you have such a lack of respect for knowledge and want to keep everything to yourselves, I wish you good luck." Shiller said, "The Pharaohs will bless you."
Shiller turned to leave. Hayven whipped out a gun and fired instantly. With a clang, the bullet was blocked by a great sword. Deathstroke squinted his eyes.
Don't get it wrong, he wasn't trying to save Shiller. But as an exceedingly seasoned mercenary, he could totally see that this museum director had no professional training; his shooting was a total mess.
Without the aim of others, he was playing with unaimed shooting. Even at a distance of less than ten meters, achieving unaimed, lift-hand-and-shoot requires some level of training. And he didn't care at all, grabbing a pistol and pulling the trigger in that direction.
Because the distance was so close, it could indeed hit, but it wouldn't hit any critical areas, making a one-shot kill nearly impossible. And the consequence of not killing Shiller with one shot was severe.
Rather than saving him, it was more like saving himself. Deathstroke really didn't want to get hit by a train again.
Having grasped the pattern that the worse Shiller's situation gets, the better it becomes, Deathstroke had to do all he could to help him avoid any injuries that wouldn't be deadly. It seemed like camaraderie, but he was also out of options.
After the bullet was deflected, Hayven seemed to notice Deathstroke for the first time. He might have thought this was a bodyguard hired by Shiller, but upon looking, he realized that this guy's presence didn't seem like that of any bodyguard.
And the other short, fat guy directly grabbed Hayven and hid under the table. The bodyguards surrounded them. Deathstroke raised his sword, wanting to cut, but after thinking it over, he gave up and dashed out of the crowd to chase after Xile.
It wasn't out of mercy. The gear wear for this mission had reached an almost unbearable level, and they weren't even getting the final payment. Further wear and tear would lead to significant losses. So if killing could be avoided, it should be.
"Don't you want the mural?" Deathstroke asked.
"The mural is no longer here," Shiller said. "If Hesingnag and Hayven were colluding, Hayven would have already prepared a vault specifically for the mural; it wouldn't be kept underground."
"You're back?" Deathstroke realized.
Shiller nodded, saying, "Things are quite lively over there too. He might not only be chased out of Egypt but all the way to Norway."
"So what exactly is going on?" Deathstroke was genuinely confused.
"Let's leave first, and I'll explain to you slowly once we're upstairs."
They left the museum's underground. This time, they could finally return to the hotel for a rest. Back in their hotel room, they checked their gear again and ate something to replenish their energy. Shiller spoke as he ate.
"Not long ago, a private collector—more accurately, a middleman who serves rich people—got hold of a batch of illicit artifacts. The other party had no other requests but hoped that these items could be taken out of America as soon as possible. It's not an uncommon situation, is it?"
Deathstroke nodded. He frequently encountered this kind of situation. Those people, when they get rich, think they're invincible, trying to grab everything and cramming all the country's treasures into their own pockets.
However, when they go too far, there are always consequences. Once someone with authority decides to pursue them, they have no choice but to relinquish what they possess. At such times, selling them isn't possible, as it could leave a financial trail, so they have to find a way to dispose of them, leaving no evidence. Deathstroke had also taken such jobs and understood how it worked.
"He reached out to a French arms dealer. The other party was also a middleman. The two instantly reached an agreement. One profiting from selling the illicit goods of a wealthy person, and the other gaining control of the batch of artifacts. Naturally, because the artifacts were incredibly valuable, a portion of the profits from selling them had to be shared with the American middleman."
"But there's a problem," Deathstroke interjected, "The biggest issue with these artifacts is the lack of official endorsement, making them hard to be recognized or fetch high prices... Oh, I get it, that's why they transported these things to Egypt. Once they were transformed into national treasures in the Egyptian Museum, their value skyrocketed."
"Exactly. However, it appears that the French arms dealer had no intention of sharing any profits with the American middleman. So he conspired with Hayven, the director of the Egyptian Museum, to swallow the most valuable piece."
"How could they swallow it?" Deathstroke was puzzled.
"The Red Sea is fraught with conflict. Claiming the ship was hijacked or destroyed would naturally allow them to swallow the goods. They just didn't expect that the guy would track them down from America and destroy the temperature control in the storage room, ruining the vast majority of the artifacts in that batch."
"Wasn't it you who ruined it?"
"I'll say it again, we are the same person."
Deathstroke felt his head buzzing again.