Herman was cutting his way through when he ran into another ambusher.
Relying on his psychic powers, he had already sensed the attacker, but instead of dodging, he shifted slightly, letting the cleaver bite into his shoulder.
"Die!"
At first, the assassin didn't realize the gravity of the situation—until he saw the blade embedded in Herman's shoulder being forced out by some unseen power.
Then, to his horror, the flesh on Herman's shoulder began to writhe and knit back together.
In the blink of an eye, it was completely healed.
"Monster! You're a monster!"
The assassin's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. He screamed in disbelief, feeling as though the world itself had gone insane.
How could such a terrifying person exist?
Escape was no longer an option.
"Seems my healing factor really is impressive." Herman even chuckled. He had deliberately let this ambusher strike him just to test the limits of his regeneration.
After all, he couldn't exactly cut himself. With the assassin right in front of him, Herman didn't hesitate. He raised his fist and struck.
It wasn't the kind of punch that sent a man flying.
His fist pierced straight through the assassin's chest. As Herman withdrew his hand, the man collapsed to the floor, eyes wide in death.
Herman glanced at the still-beating heart in his hand.
His adaptability was proving stronger than he'd thought.
When he killed the female assassin earlier, he had still felt uneasy. But now, staring at a pulsing human heart, he remained completely unmoved.
"Maybe I really was born for a world like this?"
With that brief reflection, Herman resumed his rampage, slaughtering every last person in the textile factory.
Whether by coincidence or not, Cross, the Fox, and several other well-known assassins were absent from the base. They must have been out on missions...
Herman didn't care if any slipped through the net. Killing Sloan, the one issuing the orders, was all that mattered. Without their leader, the survivors would never come after him.
After all, Sloan was the one pulling the strings. Other than the female assassin who had already been eliminated, only Sloan "knew" Herman was on the list.
"Damn it! Who the hell are you?!"
Storming into Sloan's office like an unstoppable god of death, Herman found the old black man scrambling to stuff valuables into bags.
The man must have realized the intruder couldn't be beaten, but his greed had kept him from fleeing.
Not that escape was possible.
Herman couldn't monitor an entire city like Charles, but within the factory, he could clearly sense every life force.
"Do you even know what you're doing?!"
Sloan's voice rang hollow, his bluster cracking with fear.
"If I'm not mistaken, you were the one who sent men after me first." Herman stepped calmly into the office, unconcerned about any traps.
He was already peering into Sloan's memories. To be fair, this old bastard was easy enough to handle—as long as he wasn't trying to play God.
"You're..."
Only now did Sloan realize the intruder standing before him was the very target he had ordered assassins to kill.
"No... this has nothing to do with me. It was fate... destiny's choice..."
Sloan cursed his decision that morning. He had thought Herman was just another ordinary man. Who could have guessed he was a mutant of this caliber?
"Fate? Destiny?"
Herman wasn't interested in such nonsense. With a flick of his hand, Sloan was yanked into the air and dragged before him, immobilized by Telekinesis.
"In that case, killing you here... is also your destiny."
The calm in Herman's eyes filled Sloan with bottomless terror. He tried to beg for his life, but his throat clenched as if an invisible hand were choking him.
"See? Fate has gripped your throat."
Herman watched as Sloan's throat rasped with strange noises, unable to form words.
He smirked slightly.
"Guess you don't quite get my sense of humor?"
Faced with that mocking tone, Sloan desperately wanted to shout, Let go of my neck and I'll praise your humor all you want!
But Herman's grip was absolute. Sloan couldn't force out a single syllable, his dark face already swelling into a purplish-red from lack of air.
"Here's a lesson. Hope you remember it in your next life."
Herman delved deeper into Sloan's thoughts, eliciting a guttural roar of pain.
Moments later, having gotten the answer he sought, Herman's expression turned oddly complicated. Still, he fixed his gaze on Sloan, suspended helplessly in the air before him.
"Only the living have the right to clamor about destiny."
As Herman's words fell, Sloan's neck gave a sharp crack. The so-called legendary assassin leader died in the most humiliating way imaginable.
Herman didn't even glance at the corpse. He picked up Sloan's packed valuables, hefted a large case in his hand, and flew straight out the window.
His Telekinesis could make others float, and naturally, it could carry him as well—and at a speed far from slow.
He couldn't help but feel a little regretful.
The Loom of Fate wasn't here.
It wasn't even in New York.
From Sloan's memories, Herman learned that the Loom of Fate truly was a magical artifact. But the day it produced Sloan's own name, the terrified man had immediately transferred it to a warehouse in New Mexico. Ever since, Sloan had been fabricating assassination targets.
Some were made up at random, others purely for profit. What had once been a somewhat principled Fraternity of assassins had degenerated into nothing more than Sloan's money-printing scheme.
Herman figured he'd retrieve it from New Mexico when he had the time. A machine that only spat out names didn't hold much value for him anyway.
It only listed ordinary people. For those with extraordinary powers, it revealed nothing.
"I didn't expect that to be the reason he set his sights on me."
By peering into Sloan's memories, Herman had naturally uncovered why the man sent killers after him.
It all traced back to the Fallen Director identity. In that backstory, hadn't he driven an investor to leap to his death?
In reality, that very investor had spent his remaining money before dying to issue a hit on Herman at the Continental Hotel.
The price was anything but small—funds scraped together from the investor's final property, mortgaged at the bank.
Sloan had quietly taken the contract.
That was why Herman's name ended up on the Loom of Fate's list.
The whole chain of events left him both amused and exasperated.
It also made him gradually realize something.
The identities generated by the All-Seeing Eye likely left real traces of existence in this world, rather than simply implanting false memories into everyone's minds.
Which meant different identities could indeed bring about unexpected complications.
"I wonder if every identity will drag along some kind of unforeseen trouble, or if this time was just coincidence."
Herman considered it for a moment.
He leaned toward the latter explanation. Still, he knew that as his identities piled up, trouble was bound to follow.
For example, what if he ended up as the fiancé of two women at once? Or, thinking bolder—what if he became the fiancé of ten women at the same time?
That wasn't impossible either...
...
(50 Chapters Ahead)
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