A few creatures like mountain sprites and wild monsters, plus a few Mages—decent strength, at least.
The moment they realized they had been exposed, the creatures immediately prepared for battle, apparently intending to test themselves against the Deadpool-and-Monark combination.
However, the people directing them from behind were clearly not the same.
They were not only wary of the foul-smelling Mercenary, but also guarded against one another. More than a dozen people had split into seven or eight groups, each occupying a corner of the library and using bookshelves and chairs as cover.
Deadpool stood on the carpet in the hall, looking at the mission targets scattered around as though they were bags of money.
Although Cousin would not pay him extra for killing these targets, they had to be carrying Magic Items, right? In the mercenary business, battlefield spoils did not have to be handed over to the employer. Whether he found cigars or bankbooks on a corpse, he could keep them for himself.
Deathstroke usually searched corpses for intelligence and had little interest in anything else. Deadpool was the exact opposite—he did not want intelligence, only everything else.
An image surfaced in his mind: kill these creatures, take the Magic Items from them, bring them back to 40K, sell them to the Mages, and make a fortune.
That was why he put away his two long blades, shoved both hands into his pants pockets, and pulled out two M16 assault rifles that nobody knew how he had crammed into them. He let out strange cries as he began firing wildly.
"Die! Die! Die! Before you die, get your treasures ready and put them somewhere obvious on your corpses!"
Deadpool's marksmanship was only average among mercenaries, but spraying bullets at close range made up for that weakness. Maya, this magical