The Cross's Commission

"I want to commission you to kill Sloan?"

As expected!

Just as he had anticipated!

When the system displayed the reward information, Russell had already guessed it.

"Sloan is the leader of the Brotherhood, and killing him won't be easy."

"A friendly reminder, my minimum fee for a single operation is $350,000. Are you sure you can afford the compensation for a target of Sloan's level?"

If it were any other assassin, possessing the skills of the Cross would surely make them a multimillionaire, if not a multimillionaire at least.

But the issue is, the Brotherhood's assassins are unconventional.

In their eyes, they are assassins of destiny, chosen by God as divine executioners.

While "Divine Executioner" sounds great, God won't be paying them fees.

Compared to assassins of similar caliber, the Brotherhood's assassins are far from wealthy.

This is evident from the weapons they use daily.

If it weren't for their mastery of unscientific marksmanship like the art of bullet-curving, they would be an assassin organization lacking substantial funding.

In New York, a cash-strapped and ill-equipped assassin organization with limited manpower can be found quite easily.

"I have over three million dollars and more than twenty high table gold coins. As long as you kill Sloan, these are all yours."

Impressive!

It seems you've been taking private assignments often!

Tasks within the Brotherhood come without compensation, and a small textile factory wouldn't offer great employee benefits either.

Being able to kill for God is already an honor; discussing compensation would be considered vulgar!

The fact that the Cross managed to accumulate over three million dollars and more than twenty high table gold coins suggests that these are the rewards he received from private assignments.

"I'm not interested in knowing your personal grievances with Sloan."

"But you should know that even if I take your commission and Sloan dies, you will die as well."

The Cross was well aware of the prefixes that adorned Russell's assassin code name, the Traveler.

Over three million dollars and more than twenty high table gold coins should be sufficient to buy Sloan's life.

However, the matter of Russell's office being burnt down would make the Cross pay with his life.

Whether the burning was accidental or not had nothing to do with it; the moment he and the Punisher clashed in his office, it was destined for them to pay such a price.

This concerned the reputation Russell had deliberately cultivated, whether he could continue his ordinary and peaceful life.

Killing within the Continental Hotel meant being prepared to be killed by the hotel.

While Russell's office might not have such a written rule, unwritten rules were still rules.

"I understand. After Sloan dies, I will give you the reward and my life together."

The Cross said with unwavering determination.

Russell didn't respond immediately; he took a moment to think.

Although the Cross didn't say it, Russell understood why the Cross was doing this.

Essentially, it was to rescue his "worthless" son, Wesley, from the Brotherhood's clutches.

Despite Wesley having the blood of a lion flowing through his veins, the Cross would rather have him act like a lamb.

His paternal love might be touching, but Russell didn't agree with his approach.

Wesley should be the one to decide which path to take.

Rather than suppressing Wesley's instincts, leading a life adorned with a girlfriend and a buddy weaving cuckoldry's hat while enduring workplace PUA from an overweight female superior in a cubicle.

This life might be safe, but it's also incredibly feeble.

If it weren't for the Cross choosing this unique form of "paternal love" that involved lurking in the shadows next door, Wesley wouldn't have been so easily manipulated by the Brotherhood.

So, ultimately, the situation the Cross was facing was of his own making.

"Pay the reward for killing Sloan upfront, and as for your life, I'll take it after Sloan is dead."

Russell laid out his terms.

"Agreed!"

The Cross didn't haggle; he readily accepted.

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

Russell got up directly.

"Go now?"

The Cross looked somewhat surprised.

"What's the matter? Do you want to give Sloan time to finish his breakfast tomorrow?"

If something can be settled today, Russell won't delay it until tomorrow.

Besides, Diana is waiting for him to come back for dinner tonight.

...

The Textile Factory Along the New Jersey Coast.

The Brotherhood's Headquarters.

Russell and the Cross drove a car they had casually acquired and parked it on the street about a few hundred meters away from the closed gates of the textile factory. They observed the factory.

"How many marksmen with bullet-curving skills are inside?"

Russell casually asked.

Although bullet-curving was the Brotherhood's trademark, it doesn't mean every assassin within the Brotherhood possesses this skill.

Bullet-curving is like an advanced technique and an honor, only those elite who have passed the test have the qualification to learn it.

As for the ability to control adrenaline autonomously, that's something only individuals with special constitution can master.

If he remembered correctly, there were probably only two individuals in the entire Brotherhood who could do it: the Cross and Mr. X.

As for Wesley, judging by the time when he fled the Brotherhood under the Cross's wing, he was probably either getting beaten up by the fixers or practicing bullet-curving.

To master autonomous adrenaline control, he would need to practice diligently.

"Less than ten, including Sloan."

The Cross quickly replied.

After that, he turned to Russell and continued, "What's your plan?"

"Very simple. Walk in through the front gate, encounter one and kill one, keep going until Sloan is taken out."

Russell pulled out the HK P30L and Glock 26 he carried with him, disengaged the safety, and held one in each hand. He opened the car door and got out.

The Brotherhood's assassins might be formidable to regular people, but to Russell, it was just another day at the office.

If it weren't for the fact that there's no benefit in dealing with the Brotherhood, he would have wanted to witness their bullet-curving skills.

Blesings of Wonder Woman, he had a physique far beyond normal humans.

Combined with the abilities of the Venom, he was now a formidable adversary against the Brotherhood, as powerful as a dragon on a rampage.

Blessed by Wonder Woman, the Venom symbiote—these two rewards were quite remarkable.

If he could exchange the Venom symbiote for an antidote symbiote, that would be a game-changer, but alas, it wasn't possible.

Nevertheless, it didn't matter; being a dragon on a rampage is equally formidable.

As Russell walked calmly towards the textile factory, the expression on the Cross's face turned somewhat grim.

With so many assassins in New York, he had to pick Russell out of the lot, not because of Russell's appearance, but because Russell was strong enough.

Although Russell hadn't openly admitted it, assassins in New York all knew he was a superhuman.

Someone who could effortlessly jump a dozen or more meters high, lift a car with a single hand, and run as fast as a sports car—how could he be an ordinary person?

Even cold and composed female assassins like Perkins were drawn to him; what caught their attention wasn't just his looks and physique, but his extraordinary constitution.

The Cross didn't mind if Russell eradicated the Brotherhood, but the issue was, Wesley was currently inside the textile factory as well.

According to Russell's plan of "encounter one and kill one," Wesley was likely to become an unintended casualty.