Now, Schiller's Curiosity outweighed Deathstroke's desire to kill. In truth, Deathstroke did not have much desire for killing either. He did not think of himself as some out-of-control machine of violence; that description carried far too much negative baggage. Deathstroke considered it nothing more than a joke.
About twenty seconds later, Deathstroke deeply understood a truth—Human Nature is to Judge Others by Oneself. People could not imagine judgments in fields they had never set foot in.
Out of curiosity, Deathstroke agreed to Schiller's Plan. It was the decision he would regret most over the next few days. Deathstroke thought Schiller was merely stubbornly trying to prove his own worth. After all, with the situation at the entrance, it did not look like anyone could kill their way out alone. Though Deathstroke had plenty of confidence in himself, if Schiller insisted on doing this, it was not impossible. Later, he could also sell him medicine in exchange for more intelligence.
By then, he had already noticed that Schiller was running a high fever. It was a sign that his thermoregulation system had completely gone out of control. And his fragile eardrums could not possibly withstand the torment of that hand cannon any longer. One last shot was probably all it would take for him to go completely deaf, with little hope of recovering for several days.
A thunderous bang announced the start of the battle. Deathstroke charged out, swinging his two-handed sword. This had been a one-sided massacre from the start. He feared no bullets, and his twin blades danced brilliantly in his hands. Everywhere he passed became a mist of blood, and the regular troops retreated again and again.
But his opponents were clearly not that simple. Very soon, with a clang, one of the two-handed swords he used to