"Yes. Not just what the ape said—I've had a question all along too."
Su Ming lit a cigarette as well. Watching Batwoman quickly stir-fry spices into the risotto, he said, "I killed another version of myself, one from a temporal divergence. I named that Deathstroke Old Six. He was a spellcaster, and the price of Dark Magic had left him terminally ill. But in his memories, there was never any mention of the Remnants' panacea."
Forget the medicine—Old Six knew absolutely nothing about the Remnants. Su Ming had only learned about their past origins and obtained that valuable firsthand intelligence through Wade's incessant chatter.
Come to think of it, Little Cousin really did love him. The value of that information was far greater than all those minions he had killed, yet he had only asked for five hundred dollars.
Have I been too hard on him lately? Should I stab him a few fewer times from now on?
Only then, seeing Deathstroke speak, did Damian—whose emotions had gradually settled—pick up the thread. "I understand. If the Remnant had invented a panacea capable of curing every illness, why didn't he give Old Six one? According to Adjutant afterward, once you have the chemical formula for something like a panacea, even a homeless man by the roadside can make it. There are no rare raw materials or high-tech barriers involved."
Damian meant that perhaps having the Remnant create an entire world for the Yongjia Race to consume was overly elaborate. Kyle's refusal could barely serve as an explanation.
But if it was only one pill, there was no reason not to give it to Old Six. Even if he knew it would not work, trying it would not kill him, would it?
Judging from the Remnant's later actions, he was a madman