American comic book: Transmigrated into Dior and adopted by the Wayne family

Chapter 98 The Craziest Plan (Seeking First Subscription)

"I'm leaving, kid."

Goodbye, Harvey.

After saying goodbye to Xavi, Dio quickly flipped through the guide to arranging a fight in his hand.

Although it was only a part, the dirty tricks inside still opened his eyes.

No wonder everyone says never to fight Batman—that's such a dirty trick.

Moreover, most chapters of the book teach readers how to understand the enemy.

"Analyze it from a psychological perspective, or from the perspective of behavioral logic?"

Dior clenched his fists and looked at the tattered coat on the sofa.

The surface is covered with traces of a fierce battle with the Angel of Death, all of which testify to the brutality of the fight.

The challenge guide opened up a new way of thinking for him: if he can't beat someone, why can't he challenge them to a fight?

If the ceremony is delayed until the very last day, when things are at their most urgent, the other party will most likely fall for it.

"I will turn you into a true angel of death!"

A cold glint flashed in Dior's eyes as he took out his phone and dialed a number he hadn't called in a long time.

The phone rang three times before it was answered.

"Long time no see, Mr. Wilson. I have a form here."

""

On the other end of the phone, Deathstroke put down his glass, thought for a moment, and nodded: "Nobody turns down money, kid. I'll be in Gotham this afternoon."

"That's great, I'll buy five days of your time."

"Really? You have that much money? Can you afford it?"

Deathstroke didn't mind asking for an exorbitant amount, since he knew the kid opposite him had plenty of money.

Moreover, at a certain level, money is just a string of numbers.

"I don't have that much cash, but I can give you shares, shares in Wayne Pharmaceuticals."

Vizan Pharmaceuticals? That recently went public? A subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises?

After a moment's thought, Deathstroke agreed, "Deal, I'll take 5%."

Five percent?

Approximately 15 million US dollars?

"I agree."

Dior quickly calculated the value in his mind and agreed.

Fifteen million, five days, three million a day—for someone like Deathstroke, that's considered a favor.

After all, this mercenary's appearance fee is two million, plus a 30% commission on the target's value.

Three million a day is indeed a price that reflects goodwill.

On the other end of the phone, Deathstroke's eyes flashed with satisfaction: "I'll be in Gotham this afternoon. When I arrive, hand over the target's information to my informant."

"I want to deliver it to you personally, Mr. Wilson."

"Oh?"

Deathstroke's gaze was somewhat subtle, and his voice immediately turned cold: "You want to see me?"

"Is that not allowed?"

Dio, of course, was not intimidated by the other party's tone and asked in return, "Name your price."

"I'm starting to like you, kid."

Deathstroke is growing increasingly fond of this kid named Dio.

He is intelligent, knows his limits, and most importantly, is generous and approachable.

This last point is particularly important, since such customers are extremely rare.

"One million dollars."

"it is good."

Dior readily agreed.

See you this afternoon.

Deathstroke ended the call.

Afternoon, Gotham Harbor.

Dior had already dealt with several groups of police officers who were trying to extort money from him.

Harvey's name was very useful; the other party immediately waved his hand, saying he was one of their own, and then quickly left.

A moment later, a fishing boat laden with its catch sailed in from afar.

Dio raised the telescope, adjusted the focus, and looked over.

A man was standing on the bow of the boat.

White T-shirt, dark military boots, neatly trimmed beard, and a black eye patch over his right eye.

He had his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed, yet he exuded a sense of power that could erupt at any moment.

The death knell.

The strongest mercenary, a tactical mastermind, whose brain is said to be 90% developed.

The man seemed to sense something, and suddenly looked up, staring straight at you with his only remaining eye.

Even through the binoculars, Dior could feel the scrutiny in that gaze.

He slowly lowered the binoculars, a smirk playing on his lips: "So domineering."

The fishing boat slowly approached the shore.

Deathstroke descended the gangway, took a deep breath of Gotham's humid air, walked up to Dio, and looked down at the blond boy who was more than a head shorter than him.

He has an upright posture and a strong stance.

His features were handsome with a touch of allure, especially his eyes, which held an ambition that refused to be inferior to anyone else.

Deathstroke narrowed his one eye slightly.

Is this the Wayne family's adopted son?

And he still has ties with those ground rats?

No wonder.

"Mr. Wilson."

Dior tilted his head slightly, a fake smile playing on his lips, and said politely, "We've finally met."

"Dio Brando, the Wayne boy."

Deathstroke withdrew his scrutinizing gaze, a hint of annoyance creeping into his eyes.

He dislikes dealing with ambitious people, even if they are young and wealthy.

"Why did you go to so much trouble to see me in person?"

"Listen up, you better not waste my time, kid."

"Young man? Call me Dior, Mr. Wilson."

Dior's smile slowly faded as he met Dior's gaze.

"I have an enemy that I must deal with personally, but I lack some experience."

"experience?"

Deathstroke chuckled and shook his head.

In his opinion, the blond boy was overestimating himself.

Is experience something that can be accumulated in just a few days?

wishful thinking.

"If you're here to waste my time, I can refuse this job. Listen, you can easily let me take care of that guy, kid."

""

He has no interest in teaching others, not even if it's for money.

Deathstroke never lacked money; what he lacked was respect—the respect that money could bring!

But this kid in front of him didn't give him the respect he wanted.

"It's more fun to take revenge yourself."

Dio, seeing Deathstroke's increasingly dangerous gaze, calmly shook his head, his voice turning cold: "And I'm not asking you to teach me, but to assassinate me using the same methods you use against your targets."

That's right, Dio never expected Deathstroke to be his teacher in the first place; that was impossible.

To improve one's strength as quickly as possible within three days, one can only be forced into desperate situations and push oneself to the limit time and time again.

He possesses all of Thomas Wayne's fighting skills, but his combat experience is too shallow, and the potential of his Joestar bloodline has not been fully realized.

Therefore, there is only one answer: "You come and assassinate me."

Are you sure?

Deathstroke took a half step forward, his massive shadow engulfing the blond boy. "I won't hold back. You might really die."

"He won't die."

Dio looked up, his gaze calm. "I have too many reasons to live, too many important things to do."

Deathstroke stared at him for a few seconds, then suddenly let out a low laugh.

Interesting, he admitted that the boy in front of him was very interesting!

This was the most outrageous mission request he had ever heard in years: his employer hires an assassin to kill him.

There are so many lunatics in Gotham.

"Interesting, kid, no, Dio."

Deathstroke chuckled sinisterly and held up four fingers: "Four days. I will approach you and hunt you down in every way imaginable. No time limit, no place limit. If you survive four days, you will never lack combat experience again."

"it is good."

Upon hearing this, Deathstroke turned and walked into the shadows of the dock. After taking two steps, he stopped and turned his head to say, "By the way, don't call the police, unless you want me to kill them all while I'm at it."

[Great villainous savior, you have left an indelible impression on Deathstroke, albeit a negative one, but still worthy of praise. Points +200]

Dior watched his figure disappear between the shipping containers and took a deep breath.

For the next four days, he will be hunted down by the world’s most powerful mercenaries in every corner of Gotham.

No announcement, no rules, nothing at all.

The only principle is survival!

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