Over the next few days, Herman was busy making large-scale acquisitions of Stark Industries shares.
Such an enormous move was widely mocked as the act of a fool, with Justin Hammer, the boss of Hammer Industries, being the loudest critic.
This was the same man who invented the infamous "Ex-Wife" missile and had always been at odds with Tony Stark.
His talent for inventing was mediocre, but his knack for selling was unmatched—kind of like a top salesperson who could make a fortune off something as ordinary as air conditioners before Herman crossed worlds.
Normally, Justin Hammer fit every stereotype of a speculative businessman. But the moment Stark Industries was involved, he turned into a rabid beast, lashing out at anyone who supported the company.
"This is utter stupidity!"
"Everyone knows Stark Industries is about to collapse, yet someone still wants to show off. What on earth is this buyer thinking?"
"Too much money to burn?"
Hammer even released a video on social media targeting Herman directly, calling him a philanthropist for "recycling trash no one wants," and declaring that Stark Industries was finished once and for all.
"I swear, I want to throw a vial of T-virus at his house."
Herman usually had a good temper, but this repulsive man nearly made him snap. He almost flew over to kill Justin Hammer on the spot.
He had to remind himself again and again: I, Herman, am not really Homelander. I won't kill someone just because they cursed at me.
"So frustrating!"
After forcing himself to calm down, Herman watched two episodes of the American drama "The Girl Next Door" before getting back to his daily work.
In truth, there wasn't much to it. He spent a fortune having Skye hire internet trolls to smear Stark Industries, then spent another fortune scooping up the dumped shares.
"Damn rich people! No shame at all—kicking folks when they're already down!"
Skye had complained more than once about being forced to work overtime organizing troll armies.
The girl had no idea Herman was secretly acquiring Stark shares. With her drama-watching instincts, she imagined some love-hate grudge between Herman and Tony Stark. Skye figured Tony must have stolen one of Herman's girlfriends. That playboy was notorious for things like that, and if someone told her it caused a feud, she'd believe it instantly.
"Just do whatever the boss says. Your mindset is the problem."
Quicksilver, who had recently grown familiar with the company staff, was already a die-hard loyalist to Herman. After all, Herman not only gave him a better life but also sent his sister to the best school.
"What did the boss bribe you with?!"
Skye shot Quicksilver a glare, eyes ringed with dark circles as she went back to managing the massive 5,000-strong troll group.
"Made a killing!"
Six or seven days later, Herman had already acquired twenty-six percent of Stark Industries' shares.
He had spent less than seventy billion.
That alone showed how badly Stark's stock had plummeted. Herman wanted to buy more, but there weren't many shares left on the market. Some capital investment banks, not short on cash, still hadn't sold their holdings.
Perhaps they were waiting to see what happened.
Herman wasn't in a hurry to pry those shares from their hands. He only needed to wait for Tony Stark's return, when he would announce the shutdown of Stark Industries' weapons division.
When that moment came, those investment banks would surely panic, giving Herman another chance to scoop up shares. He was certain he could push his holdings past thirty percent.
He still wondered who had ended up with Obadiah's twenty percent. Herman was eager to get his hands on that dying man's shares.
"No wonder so many reincarnation novels have the protagonist dive straight into the stock market. Having foreknowledge really is an unbeatable advantage."
Sitting before his computer, Herman let out a sigh. He didn't continue trading, but got up and went to wash his hands in the bathroom.
"Hope this brings me some luck."
But just washing didn't seem enough. He went through a whole ritual—changing clothes, lighting incense, and even bathing—as if to cleanse away misfortune and invite good fortune.
The reason for such ceremony was simple.
Today was the day Herman would draw a new identity. After all the ritualistic steps, he even prayed earnestly—to his future self. Yes, to his future self. In his mind, the logic was solid and perfectly reasonable.
With the aid of the [All-Seeing Eye], he was likely destined to become a big shot himself. Rather than seeking help from other big shots, it was certainly better to rely on himself.
Better to rely on yourself than others.
"Hope I draw a good identity this time!" Herman finished his preparations and waited for the countdown in his mind to end.
10!
9!
8!
…
1!
Amid Herman's anticipation, the entire world once again fell into a peculiar state of stasis.
[World Permission Access Complete!]
[Weekly Identity Acquisition Complete!]
Within his mind, the pupil symbolizing the Eye of God pulsed with a kaleidoscope of colors, like a spinning slot machine.
Herman held his breath, watching as the pupil of the [All-Seeing Eye] slowly stabilized.
It was silver-white.
Once the color settled, the entire world resumed its motion... though history had already shifted once again, quietly and without notice.
"Another Silver-level identity! When will I ever attain Platinum-tier identity, or even higher?"
Herman sighed with disappointment.
He had coveted higher ranks for ages. A Gold-level identity could make him a god, so wouldn't Platinum-tier let him utterly crush Odin?
Daring to dream even bigger—Diamond-tier or even Crystal-tier status might grant him the strength to venture into the cosmos and snatch up the Five Great Gods of the Universe to serve as his household guardians.
"Ugh, the more I think about it, the worse I feel. Seems begging my future self was pointless."
Herman concluded that all his earlier mystical rituals had been a complete waste of time. Depressed, he began examining the new identity he'd drawn. He didn't like it, but at least it came with something new.
[Silver-level Identity—Favored of Fate!]
[Note—This identity becomes permanently active upon activation!]
[You are a billionaire director with superpowers, destined for godhood, yet currently a fallen director. However, this identity is merely your outward persona.]
[In secret, you were chosen long ago by Fate itself, becoming its favored child and inheriting an assassin organization that had long since fallen into decline.]
[This assassin organization, once powerful and prosperous, was destroyed in a bloody purge. Now, only a handful of fate's loyal devotees remain, faithfully awaiting destiny's guidance. You must act as fate's chosen and lead them to rise again.]
[Identity Exclusive Mission: Expand the Destiny Assassins into the world's foremost assassin organization and carry out an assassination that shocks the world!]
[Mission Reward: The Eye of Destiny.]
Holy crap.
This exclusive mission clearly wasn't something that could be accomplished easily. Building the largest assassin organization in the Marvel Universe was already an impossible challenge. And on top of that, he had to pull off an assassination that shocked the world… Should he make the Japanese Prime Minister laugh himself silly, or leave the American President dumbfounded?
Honestly, Herman wasn't keen on taking on such a taxing mission. But the moment he saw the reward, his mind changed instantly.
"I absolutely have to get my hands on this power!"
His eyes burned with desire.
The Eye of Destiny.
As the name implied, it granted the power to shape destiny—not to dictate others' lives, but to make events unfold according to his will.
Such an ability would be unimaginably powerful, whether in daily life or on the battlefield.
In combat, he could simply decree that his opponent's next attack would fail, and the outcome would already be decided.
The reason such a formidable ability was only tied to a Silver-level identity was because of its drawback: it consumed Herman's mental energy.
If the opponent was too powerful, the Eye couldn't influence them. But in everyday life, there was no need to worry about that limitation.
For instance, if Herman fancied a girl, he only had to decree that her fate was to appear in his bed that night. A chain of coincidences would then unfold, ensuring she ended up there.
"This feels way too much like the kind of superpower you'd only see in a Japanese adult film protagonist," Herman muttered, feeling increasingly uneasy. He wasn't sure if the issue lay with the power itself or with his own mindset, but in his opinion, the ability was anything but proper.
"The Fate Assassin Organization… why does that sound so familiar?"
After checking the reward, Herman went back to carefully reviewing the identity description.
As he adjusted to the changes, he realized this new identity also granted him solid abilities: exceptional dynamic combat skills and the power to slow down others with Bullet Time.
Bullet Time had to be manually activated and placed a heavy strain on his body. At best, Herman figured he could only maintain it for a few hours.
Oh, right.
On top of that, he had also gained mastery of advanced firearm techniques.
"Can bullets really bend midair?"
"Why does this feel so familiar?"
Herman suddenly realized what was going on, and a bad premonition gripped his chest. He refused to believe his luck was this rotten. Without wasting a second, he jumped into his car and sped straight toward the headquarters of the Fate Assassins.
"It's just a gun shop. It shouldn't be what I'm thinking," Herman tried to reassure himself.
He kept his foot heavy on the gas, and after about half an hour, he pulled up in front of a massive firearms store.
The moment he stepped inside, he walked directly toward the door leading to the storage room in the back. Several Black security guards immediately stepped forward to block him.
"That's not a place you're allowed to enter," one of them said, his tone carrying a clear warning.
"Hm?"
Herman glanced at the group standing in his way. With just a glance into the guard's surface memories, he knew these men were peripheral members of the organization.
"I doubt anyone here is more qualified than me."
He pulled out a crescent-shaped token—proof tied to his identity, a symbol of destiny itself. According to the [All-Seeing Eye], whoever held it was recognized as one favored by fate.
"It's the Leader! The Apostle chosen by destiny!"
"My god! He's our new Leader?!"
The guards immediately recognized the token, lowered their heads in apology, and respectfully opened the door for him.
"Now I get why those 'Return of the Dragon King' novels were such a hit back on Earth. This feeling is incredible."
After entering, Herman headed straight toward where the core members were supposed to be. Not that he needed confirmation—he already knew.
But the moment he stepped into that hidden section, he froze as if struck by lightning. In front of him, hanging inside a room, were memorial portraits.
[Sloan]
[Butcher]
[Repairman]
…
One after another, the photos filled the room.
Every face was familiar.
Every single one of them… was someone Herman himself had killed.
"So the enemy of this organization… is me?"
He stood there, dumbfounded.
Just as he feared!
His earlier premonition was right!
The so-called Fate Assassins were none other than the Fraternity—the very group whose foundation he had personally destroyed, the one whose core members he had slaughtered!
"Are you our new leader?"
A rough voice cut through the silence. From one of the rooms stepped a scruffy, unshaven middle-aged man in a gray denim jacket. His appearance was plain, but his presence heavy.
"I believe destiny has already revealed my existence to you."
Herman steadied himself, though a weight pressed down on his chest, as he faced the man.
He knew exactly who this was.
The top assassin of the Fraternity—no, now the Fate Assassins. A master killer known as Cross.
In the world of ordinary men, no one could escape his blade.
"We all had that dream… even now, it still feels unreal." Cross studied Herman carefully.
As their eyes met, he felt an overwhelming sense of danger, unlike anything before. It was suffocating. He instinctively knew that if he dared make a move, death would be the inevitable result.
Such a man becoming the new leader of the Fate Assassins didn't surprise him. Cross had long grown dissatisfied with Sloan's self-serving rule.
"What about the others?" Herman asked, wanting to know how many assassins remained.
"What kind of others?"
Cross sat down in a chair, casually picked up a gun, and began checking it over.
"Those still carrying out fate's will."
Herman kept his words brief, though his mood was far from light.
"There's also a woman named Fox. She's out buying equipment," Cross answered bluntly.
"Hm?" Herman froze.
"That's it?"
His voice trembled faintly.
"Other than the ones who ran, everyone else is in there." Cross smirked darkly, pointing to the room next door filled with memorial portraits.
"...."
Herman couldn't laugh at all.
He hadn't known he would one day inherit this organization, so when he wiped them out, he hadn't held back. Still, had he really left it so broken that only two Fate Assassins remained?
How was he supposed to rebuild this?
How was he supposed to turn this into the world's number one assassin organization?
His gaze lingered on the room of memorials. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if bowing his head and apologizing sincerely might somehow bring them back, let them set aside old grudges, and lend him their aid.
"Not a chance."
He remembered how ruthless he'd been, leaving no bodies intact. Even a necromancer couldn't have brought them back. All he could do was let out a heavy sigh in front of the portraits.
"Who knows what enemies Sloan managed to provoke back then."
Cross sighed too, his voice heavy with grief. Not for Sloan, but for the other assassins who had devoted themselves to fate.
"I'd say the enemy must have been irrational… and not exactly magnanimous."
Herman winced inside.
He looked at Cross.
"I want you to kill someone."
He needed an outlet.
"Fate's command?" Cross raised an eyebrow.
"No. This is a personal commission. Our organization still accepts outside contracts, doesn't it?"
Herman knew the Fraternity all too well.
After all, he was the one who had destroyed them.
"The target has to be a villain."
Cross didn't refuse.
"Don't worry, he's rotten to the core. His name is Justin Hammer."
Herman reminded himself to be magnanimous—by letting someone else do the killing.