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Chapter 632: Schiller is Truly a Good Person (2)

"Now, roll out of my hospital room, oh, and take him with you," Schiller pointed at Constantine.

Constantine and Lucifer Morningstar were both taken aback. Then they heard Schiller raise his voice, saying, "You two claim to be my friends, but where were you when I was on the brink of death?"

"Now that I've woken up, you both come into my hospital room and start chattering away. Just a few minutes ago, I was lying on the emergency room bed, uncertain about life and death. Now that I'm awake, you want me to get to work. In that case, I must have the right to resign, don't I?"

"What did you just say? You want Feather back?" Lucifer Morningstar looked surprised as he examined Schiller. "It seems like you've had a change of heart. Why the sudden realization?"

"I take back what I said earlier. I have no special interest in a Feather that's no better than a goose feather. I won't display it in my trophy room because that would be too tasteless."

Schiller scrutinized Lucifer Morningstar with a critical eye and continued, "Even if it were a whole pair of wings, I have no interest. It's not the shade of gray I prefer. If I were to display it in my trophy cabinet, my friends would mock its cliché appearance."

Constantine watched as Lucifer Morningstar's expression darkened. He extended his hands to stand between the two and said, "Wait a minute, Schiller, are you crazy? Why are you insulting him for no reason?"

"Well... Lucifer Morningstar, don't be angry. He might not know that wings are a taboo among the Angels, much like hairstyles are for humans. You can't say their wings are ugly; it's an insult to them."

"Oh, is that so? Then why don't you take a look at your own hairstyle?" Schiller turned to Constantine. "Now you have an excuse to enter Wayne Manor openly, as long as you're standing on your head, Alfred will think his new broom has arrived."

Constantine's face also darkened, and he looked at Lucifer Morningstar, expecting the former King of Hell to give Schiller a piece of his mind. However, Lucifer Morningstar unexpectedly hesitated for a moment and then said to Schiller, "Do you want me to kill you? Why would you want that?"

"You can read minds, right? Oh, of course, you can," Schiller suddenly realized. Lucifer Morningstar, the all-knowing and all-powerful, could certainly read minds, making it futile to provoke him.

Schiller did indeed want Lucifer Morningstar to kill him because he felt like he had found a reason that neither side of Death wanted him.

Lucifer Morningstar didn't know where Schiller had hidden the Feather, but Schiller knew it was now lying within his own Soul.

In other words, his Soul now belonged to Lucifer Morningstar. As the second in command in the entire DC Space, there was no comparison with the Endless Family. This meant that if Lucifer Morningstar didn't allow him to die, he wouldn't be able to meet Death.

He had initially wanted to provoke Lucifer Morningstar, and if Lucifer Morningstar personally killed him, it would be equivalent to granting him access to this part of his permissions, allowing him to find Death.

However, there was still a contradiction here. If the original Schiller's Soul also belonged to Lucifer Morningstar and Lucifer Morningstar didn't allow him to die, then why did he disappear? Moreover, it seemed that Lucifer Morningstar was unaware of this...

As mentioned earlier, Lucifer Morningstar's level was quite high. He wasn't just nearly all-knowing and all-powerful; he truly was. In this situation, he hadn't realized that Schiller's Soul had been swapped out. What did that mean?

Seizing this opportunity, Schiller wanted to conduct an experiment. So he intended to provoke Lucifer Morningstar, but he didn't expect Lucifer Morningstar's strength to be so formidable, including his ability to read minds, which allowed him to see through Schiller's intentions.

"You want to find Death?" Lucifer Morningstar quickly deduced more. "That Death from the Endless Family? Wait... What's this about the dream god?"

"You've actually become the Pope of the dream god?!" Lucifer Morningstar was thoroughly infuriated. He said, "You betrayed me! Don't you know that my relationship with Morpheus is not good? That foolish dream god..." ṟАɴôBĘʂ

"I'm sorry, I really didn't know. How does hell usually deal with apostates? I guess they kill them?"

"You..." Lucifer Morningstar was about to say, "Do you think I wouldn't dare to kill you?" Then he thought about it. If he killed Schiller, wouldn't that be granting him his wish of seeing Death?

"While I can't kill you, I can extract your Soul and lock it in hell until..." Lucifer Morningstar angrily said.

"Wait!" Constantine suddenly walked over, extending a hand to stop Lucifer Morningstar. He said, "...You better not do that."

Of course, Constantine had to stop Lucifer Morningstar. If Lucifer Morningstar actually sent Schiller's Soul to hell, hell would descend into chaos on the spot. Wasn't Dreamland a precedent?

It turns out that any intelligent being can be tempted and lured, especially if they have a way with words. As long as Schiller had a silver tongue, Constantine believed that an unprecedented war in hell would break out within a few days.

Hellfighting didn't matter; Constantine didn't care how many demons died. But if all the demons were busy fighting, who would he turn to for help?

His debt wasn't just with the demons; he also had other things to pay off with their power.

You could think of Constantine as someone who played cards to keep the cards coming. He shuffled various powers back and forth, and in the end, he didn't have to pay any price himself to use powerful magic.

After hanging up the telephone, Schiller looked at Lucifer Morningstar, who said with a smirk, "I just glanced along the timeline and dealt with the root of this contradiction. There are no Owls in this world, not now and not ever."

"In addition, the victims of these cases have also been resurrected. Oh, you're called Angela, right? Now go to Anderson Mental Hospital; you'll be able to see your sister there. No need to thank me."

"What nonsense are you talking about?" Angela shouted at Lucifer Morningstar. "How can you joke about my sister? She just passed away not long ago!"

"I was trying to help. I should be your benefactor," Lucifer Morningstar looked at Angela and said. "Even if you don't appreciate it, you shouldn't point a gun at me."

"Constantine, what does he mean?" Bruce turned to Constantine and asked. Constantine shrugged and said, "Literal meaning."

Bruce gave his classic skeptical expression and began to dig deeper with Constantine.

In the room, everyone except Schiller lying on the hospital bed became a chaotic mess, with voices fluctuating between loud and soft, creating a cacophonous symphony, lacking only in musicality and artistry compared to a large symphony orchestra.

Just then, there was a loud "bang," and everyone stopped.

Schiller removed his hands from the railing he had just tapped. Folding his hands on the blanket, he looked at them expressionlessly and said, "Do you know what? I'm currently on vacation..."

"According to Gotham University's faculty benefits, someone like me, a professor, is entitled to 12 days of standard annual leave per year, as well as some additional allowances for other holidays, totaling 18 days."

"Gotham University's administrators told me that this is their excellent tradition, and no one can make exceptions."

"Now, it's the second week since I left Gotham, the 14th day to be exact, which means... I've already used up more than half of my annual leave."

With a sigh, Schiller tried to speak calmly, but his anger couldn't be entirely concealed. He continued, "Even after more than half of my annual leave has passed, I still haven't had any rest. Let me put it in civilized terms that humans can understand one more time..."

"Get out, all of you!"

After a moment of shock, everyone in the room, led by Constantine, began to file out.

As Lucifer Morningstar, at the team's end, was about to leave, he shrugged and said, "A university professor only gets less than 20 days of annual leave? Even the employees at my bar get a full 36 days of annual leave."

Schiller, lying on the bed, opened his eyes with a "clink."

Half an hour later, Schiller stood in the hospital lobby with his suitcase, picked up the public telephone's receiver, and said to the other end, "Yes, correct, it's me... Yes, madam, I called to confirm that up to today, my annual leave is already more than half used, right?"

"What are you talking about, Professor Rodriguez?" A sharp female voice came from the other end, the head of Gotham University's administration. She said, "Didn't you leave on April 1st? It's only the 14th now, and your annual leave has only been used for 14 days. You still have more than 20 days left!"

"Didn't my annual leave only total 18 days?"

"Oh, my goodness, Professor, what kind of memory do you have? When you left, didn't I tell you? Professors like you are entitled to 36 days of standard annual leave per year. You've only taken 14 days now, so you still have 22 days left. Remember..."

"Of course, madam, I remember very well. Gotham University's excellent tradition, no exceptions... I'll bring you some local specialties. Goodnight."

Schiller picked up his luggage, walked out of the door, placed his suitcase in the trunk, got into the driver's seat, sat down, started the engine, stepped on the gas pedal, and performed a series of actions smoothly. With one hand on the steering wheel and the other adjusting the radio button, he was immersed in the passionate highway rock music.

A red sun slowly descended at the desolate end of the earth, and the straight road stretched ahead. The Ford car raced towards the horizon as the dusk approached.

Watching the car slowly disappear towards the sunset, Constantine, leaning on the hospital rooftop railing, exhaled a puff of cigarette smoke and turned to Bruce, saying, "You have to believe it, Schiller is really a good person."

Constantine turned his head and looked at Bruce, asking, "If there were a near-omnipotent being, almost like a god, who promised to grant you one wish, what would you choose?"

Bruce's lips moved, but in the end, he remained silent.

Constantine turned his head back, watching the car that had already disappeared on the horizon and the still desolate and lonely sunset. He extinguished his cigarette, exhaled the last puff of smoke, and said, "Schiller chose 36 days of annual leave."