Deathstroke had truly tried countless times to convince himself to accept the premise that "the two of them were the same person." The problem was that everything they did overturned that premise at every moment.
"Are you serious?" Deathstroke asked. "You want me to find people to hunt you down. What's the point of that?"
Schiller had just been about to speak when Deathstroke held up a hand to stop him, then said, "I know what you're going to say. This is some kind of formal self-confrontation again. But I'm begging you, when you're carrying out some spiritual self-reform, can't you act like a normal person and keep the scope limited to your own brain? More precisely, to your mental world, instead of insisting on dragging the entire real world down with you?"
The two of them stared at each other, wide-eyed. Without a doubt, each thought the other was abnormal. Schiller said, "I'm doing this to force him to switch with me."
Deathstroke frowned. Schiller continued, "He doesn't like dealing with people hunting him down. As long as enough people are after him, he'll definitely find a way to switch with me. Then I can make him go look for the thing."
"I really don't get it," Deathstroke said, on the verge of a breakdown. "He made this thing, and he was the one who brought it to Egypt. Why would he help you find it? What exactly is your relationship? Which one of you is good and which one is bad?"
"I'll say it again. We are one person..."
Seeing that Deathstroke's hand was already on the hilt of his sword, Schiller sighed and said, "Why do you think he made this thing? And why do you think he brought it to Egypt?"
"That's exactly what I wanted