Multiverse: Deathstroke-Chapter 519: Wilson Academy

The small room was filled only with the crackling of the fire. Natasha and Eva quietly shared a roasted spicy strip, while Dottie’s gaze lingered on the man’s face.

She could tell he was serious when he said they could learn to be chefs—no traps, no jokes.

An actual chef, cooking food.

But why?

Three batches of agent trainees were here. Even the youngest third-years, given a few years to mature, would become formidable weapons with their skills and looks.

Such power could topple nations or regimes if used right.

Yet he didn’t seem to care, saying they could leave or do something else if they didn’t want to kill—like tossing precious weapons into a river.

The one-eyed man turned to her, as if reading her thoughts.

"You’re wondering why I’m giving you the right to choose?"

Dottie sighed, edging closer to the fire, her eyes on Natasha.

"Yes. You came here, took us all, aiming to wield us as weapons. But now you’re telling killers to chop vegetables. I don’t get what you’re planning."

He smiled, tossing her another pack of similar snacks.

"Your name?"

"Dottie. Dottie Underwood."

"Hm, so it’s you. Complicated girl..."

The one-eyed man rubbed his stubble, as if recalling something, but Dottie was certain she’d never met him.

"Don’t worry about my goals. I just want you to live like people, making your own choices, not wasting your lives. I’m not here for weapons—I’m the strongest weapon myself."

He used a glowing, electrified weapon to poke the fire, treating the almost magical tool like a fire poker.

Dottie knew he was right. He’d shown he could wipe out the entire base alone. He didn’t need others to kill for him. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

But the girls weren’t thrilled. They feared becoming useless, which, in their world, meant death.

"Don’t buy your instructors’ lies. Everyone has a place in this world as a human," he said, standing and pulling a paper from a desk. He grabbed a piece of charcoal from the fire and scribbled numbers and English.

As a senior trainee, Dottie understood nations and geography. Those numbers were coordinates—likely their current location.

Was he sending a telegram for backup? One man couldn’t move them all alone; they’d need vehicles or something.

But what happened next baffled her. He unhooked his cloak, handed it the paper, and talked to it.

The cloak came alive, curling a corner to grip the note, its collar bobbing like a nod. Then it opened the door, walked out, and flew off into the sky, disappearing with the paper.

"Ah!"

The girls crowded the doorway, staring curiously at where the cloak vanished. They couldn’t comprehend it—everything felt like a dream.

But the icy wind whipped snow into their faces, the cold sting proving it was real.

"How’d you do that?" Natasha asked, red oil still on her lips. She was shocked but hid it well, her face blank.

She still wanted to know.

The man patted her head, gazing out the window. Morning light spilled over the horizon, turning the snowfield golden.

"The world’s big, full of unknowns. You’ll learn in time, but that’s not important. Have you ever seen a sunrise? This is your first lesson: learning what hope is."

Natasha pursed her lips, turning to the window, but it was already packed with little heads. Some girls ran outside, standing at the door to watch the horizon.

She’d seen sunrises, but she didn’t grasp "hope." Yet, watching the sun rise over the snow, she felt she understood something faintly.

A warmth.

The sunrise didn’t last long, but every girl seemed lost in thought. The man clapped, gathering them outside.

"Alright, since you’re all coming with me, you should know my name. In English, I’m Slade Wilson, a merchant dealing in goods."

He snapped on his helmet, red optic flashing. "But I have a secret identity: codename Deathstroke, a warrior. By the way, do you speak English?"

"Yes, we were all required to master ten languages," Eva said, raising her hand.

"Good. Now, let’s go home."

As he spoke, a golden portal appeared nearby, like a bridge between spaces.

A man in a dark blue suit stepped out, expressionless, sporting a distinctive mustache.

The girls instantly went on alert, ready to eliminate this unexpected figure. Was this thing from the portal even human?

But the new man bowed to the one-eyed figure. "Master."

The one-eyed man clapped his shoulder warmly. "Right on time, Hamir. Come meet our students."

"Too cold," the newcomer replied.

The cloak flew back through the portal, settling behind Deathstroke, its collar shrinking into a normal shape.

"You’re right, it’s freezing. Get the kids through first. I’ll hang back to leave Leviathan a gift," Deathstroke said, pulling out a blue cube.

Dottie was the last to step through the portal. She glanced back as Deathstroke tossed the cube at the shack and fired at it with an oversized golden spear from his back.

A burst of blue flames erupted, vaporizing the shack and collapsing the underground passage.

On the snow, Deathstroke arranged corpses to spell out in German: "Hail Hydra!"

"Why aren’t you going in? Maintaining the portal’s tough for Master Hamir," Deathstroke said, urging her through.

"Hydra’s that mythical creature?"

"None of your concern. You’re sixteen or seventeen—think about yourself. Cooking or excavators?"

"???"

Their destination was Wilson Academy’s auditorium. The girls, once packed in the shack, didn’t seem so numerous here.

The heating, ample chandeliers, and pretty wallpaper thrilled them.

It was midnight in New York, five hours until dawn. The second lesson would likely be Hamir on geography and time zones.

"Boss."

Gin greeted him. What was he doing here, not sleeping at this hour?

"The school’s fine with Hamir. Why aren’t you resting? It’s late," Su Ming sighed, patting his old friend’s shoulder.

Gin was helpless. Hamir was a scholar, lacking common sense.

Gin had been running the school—arranging chefs, maintenance, buying textbooks, and supplies. Vodka and Jos were scouring the world for teachers.

This was New York; Hamir couldn’t even find where to buy hundreds of blankets.

Gin had lackeys to run errands, but he had to oversee the minutiae.

Su Ming had no solution. Hamir was picked as principal for his knowledge and combat skills, not for handling logistics.

Su Ming was often away, and Wilson Enterprises needed a strong figure. Hamir might not match some, but his backer was no small deal.

"He’s learning fast. Give it time," Su Ming reassured Gin, who was stretched thin managing the business side too. "Has Lorraine reported?"

"She’ll be here soon. She’s been living at the academy, probably dolling up now. But boss, change out of the uniform. Deathstroke’s too early for her to see."

"No worries, I’m leaving soon. You and Hamir handle things here. I’ve got another trip."

"Alright. How do we arrange the girls’ classes?"

"Give them a break. They’re too tense, not like kids at all," Su Ming said, shaking his head at the crowd below the stage. "Hamir, watch them. Don’t let them kill anyone."

"Understood," Hamir said, adjusting his glasses.

"Your call, but practice smiling. You’re too stern," Su Ming shrugged, exiting through the auditorium’s back door.

"..."

Hamir managed a terrifying grimace, barely a smile, lasting a split second.

Gin took the stage, facing the girls staring at him, already feeling a headache.

"Students, hello. I’m Mr. Wilson’s assistant, called Gin. From today, you’ll live here. Any questions, go to Principal Hamir or your teacher, Lorraine."

"Do we still learn to kill?" a girl asked.

"If you want to, we have teachers. But no one will force you. Free choice is our school’s motto," Gin said, smiling like a kindly grandfather.

In truth, his boss was a free spirit. The school had no rules, just a creepy "codex" Hamir got.

Gin had peeked at it. The opening line? "If Loyalty is not absolute, it’s absolutely disloyal."

He’d slammed it shut. Too blatant for brainwashing. He’d have to figure something else out.