Multiverse: Deathstroke

Chapter 153: Ch.152 Departure

Chapter 153: Ch.152 Departure

"Ah, this serene and carefree mindset, I feel like I'm floating," Su Ming sighed to himself as he tilted his head back and downed a bottle of cola. He then twisted open another bottle, placing it on his stomach.

He had recently bought himself a few more Hawaiian shirts. The one he was wearing now was yellow and black, which he particularly liked. Unfortunately, the yellow took up 90% of the shirt instead of being evenly split, and the pattern was bananas...

As the sun set, casting ripples across the ocean, he prepared to leave. The sky was darkening, and it was time to head into town for dinner.

A gentle breeze carried the scent of the sea, and he found that he enjoyed this kind of life.

The key factor was that he still had plenty of money left. Things were really cheap in this era; even a good meal often only cost a dollar or two. The money he got from selling the jewelry could last him years.

However, if he wanted to rest, he thought it would be better to head to the mainland U.S., prepare for some business, and maybe visit a beach in Miami or somewhere similar.

Speaking of which, by now, American girls should be wearing two-piece swimsuits, right? That was a piece of information he needed to confirm.

After finishing another bottle of cola and sticking the empty glass bottle in the sand, he dusted off the sand on his body, ready to grab dinner. After dinner, he'd go back to the inn to sleep, and tomorrow he'd handle the business of getting his identity sorted out before taking a ship back to America.

There were two route options: either take a passenger ship from Honolulu to San Francisco, then a train across the West Coast to New York, or board a luxury cruise ship that usually followed the Panama route, passing through the canal and the Caribbean before reaching New York.

Of course, neither option was fast. Passenger ships were often poor quality, and cruise ships had frequent stops. Whichever he chose, he would be at sea for nearly a month, and by then, he figured he'd be sick of looking at the ocean.

As he pondered how to expedite the development of civilian air travel for his convenience, he noticed someone standing beside him, blocking the sunlight.

He turned his head to see that it was none other than Old Zhang, the butcher.

In his previous impressions, Su Ming had always imagined butchers as burly men with full beards and either layers of fat or rippling muscles—just like the character in *Water Margin*, the famous Chinese novel.

However, in reality, Old Zhang wasn't skinny but definitely wasn't fat either. He had a scholarly demeanor, more like a teacher than a butcher.

Since Su Ming now looked like a Westerner but spoke fluent Chinese and consistently brought in impressive hunting results while expertly handling game, Old Zhang saw him as a capable and resourceful person.

Old Zhang knew that in recent years, hunting had become a luxury only the wealthy could afford in Europe. Forests and mountains had been bought up by landowners and turned into private hunting grounds, and the profession of hunter had all but disappeared.

Su Ming often visited the market these days, sometimes selling game to Old Zhang or buying some pork or lamb to grill. Old Zhang was a decent fellow, often throwing in extra offal or scraps for him.

But today, Old Zhang seemed troubled, very different from his usual self.

"What's the matter? Closing shop a bit early today?" Su Ming asked curiously as he folded his chair, ready to return it to the beach management office for his deposit.

"Ah, Mr. Wilson, you're a capable man. Could you help us figure something out?" Old Zhang began pouring out his troubles before Su Ming even knew what was going on.

Su Ming handed him a bottle of cola, signaling him to take his time explaining. After some effort, he finally understood what was bothering the middle-aged man.

It turned out to be a gang problem.

Even in Hawaii, where there are people, there are gangs. Many of the Japanese who had arrived here were former gang members, quickly organizing into new factions in this new place.

However, Old Zhang's problem wasn't with them but with the local Hawaiian gangs who currently controlled the main island of Honolulu.

The issue stemmed from protection fees. Due to infighting and power struggles among the gangs, Old Zhang had already paid protection fees four times this month.

These fees weren't cheap, and after paying them, he could barely keep his business afloat. The other merchants in the market, many of whom were Chinese, were in the same boat, feeling helpless.

These merchants just wanted to live their lives, but their kindness and decency were often mistaken for weakness, and the gangs didn't treat them like humans.

So Old Zhang had come to Su Ming, hoping that since Hawaii was, after all, American territory, Su Ming might know some officials who could put a check on the gangs' behavior.

Who did Su Ming know? In this world, at this time, he knew absolutely no one.

But Su Ming had his own methods.

He patted Old Zhang on the shoulder, carefully questioning him about these gangs, their activities, and their hideouts.

"Alright, I'll handle this. But after it's done, if anyone asks, you need to act like you know nothing. Can you do that?"

"Sure, thank you, sir! You're saving all of us!"

Although he didn't know how Su Ming would handle it, the fact that he agreed was enough. He'd see what happened in a few days.

Su Ming sighed and added, "Chinese people abroad need to stick together. Unity is strength."

Old Zhang smiled and nodded, thinking that this Mr. Wilson really was a friend to the Chinese people. But the reality was that China had been weak for so long, and it had fallen apart ten years ago. Yuan Shikai had been overthrown, and now the country was divided among warlords. Where was the future?

Old Zhang left with a wry smile, looking rather humble, which made Su Ming feel a twinge of sadness.

In this era, the status of Chinese people was low everywhere. It was because the nation wasn't strong enough, and there was no confidence. He wondered if Old Zhang had taken his words to heart.

Gangs were like weeds—cut them down, and eventually, they'd grow back. Su Ming could help them for a while, but he couldn't help them forever.

"Self-reliance and strength are the only way out."

Su Ming watched as Old Zhang's figure disappeared into the crowd, his heart filled with indescribable emotions.

He decided to skip dinner and went back to the inn, where he retrieved his holy icon armor and the Sword of Ares.

The next morning, there was big news on the island. Overnight, several gangs in Honolulu had been completely wiped out.

It was hundreds of people, causing great distress for the police trying to maintain order at the scene. They had to work hard to piece together the shredded remains into something recognizable.

Of course, this was Su Ming's specialty. This era was indeed a golden age for assassins—no surveillance, no satellites, and no one out at night.

You had to be ruthless to set an example and delay the rise of the next generation of gangs.

In less than half an hour, he had wiped out four gangs.

They were far inferior to the Gotham gangs in terms of quality, but their evil deeds were similar. A quick glance was enough to see that they were involved in every criminal enterprise imaginable.

Su Ming turned the Sword of Ares into twin blades and swept through the front doors of each gang's hideout, leaving out the back doors, ensuring that he was the only one standing by the end.

It was effortless, unchallenging. If Old Zhang had wanted to pay him, Su Ming would have felt guilty taking it. This job was worth maybe a two-kilogram chunk of pork—nothing more.

Deathstroke's mercenary services were always fairly priced: you paid for the job done.

This time, because he had been in a good mood lately, he did it as a freebie.

Not everyone was killed, though. He left a few survivors on purpose. With their stories spreading, and after this incident, the rise of gangs on the island would be delayed.

This event caused quite a stir. The next morning, when Su Ming went out for breakfast, even the lady selling pineapple buns outside the hotel knew about it. She said there were ghosts on the island last night and that the gangsters had died terribly.

Naturally, this also alarmed the U.S. military stationed there, but apart from bloody footprints, they found no clues.

The few survivors were scared out of their minds. When the police found them, their faces were blurred by tears and snot, and they kept repeating phrases like "black and yellow demon," "an invincible devil," and "bells ringing in my ears."

Even Old Zhang was terrified. He didn't know it was Su Ming alone who had done this, but he was sure it had something to do with Mr. Wilson. He was so on edge today that he could barely sell his meat, though the police didn't suspect him at all.

While the military and police played headless chickens, Su Ming was already on a cruise ship, sailing into the open ocean.

After breakfast, as if nothing had happened, he bribed a clerk at the management office, effortlessly obtaining all the necessary living documents. For the sake of the U.S. dollar, the young clerk even gave him some reasonable advice.

Now, his birthplace was listed as New York, with his parents having died of illness in Hawaii. He was officially an American citizen.

With this identity, he could legally pass through customs, but at that moment, only a luxury cruise passing through Panama was available. He bought a first-class ticket and, with his "anti-sh

ark suit" and "surfboard" in tow, boarded the gleaming white ship, much to the envy of the dockworkers.

The luxury cruise had a fully stocked bar, and he finally got to taste a Martini. At this moment, he stood by the ship's railing, holding his glass, watching as the Hawaiian Islands gradually disappeared into the horizon.