Multiverse: Deathstroke

Chapter 363: Ch.362 Mercenary Sorcerer

Thai food isn't exactly cheap in America, and she had to have alcohol with her dinner. After spending money on a cheap bottle of whiskey, she only had enough left for a portion of fried noodles.

But that was fine. With cigarettes and alcohol, tonight would be a comfortable one again.

Because of her close ties with hell, there were both benefits and drawbacks. She had the same issue as Constantine—when she fell asleep, she often dreamt of scenes from hell.

Those weren't visions a human would enjoy, and even a mage wasn't an exception.

That's where alcohol came in handy. By numbing her mind, even if she dreamed of those scenes, she'd wake up with only fragmented pieces of memory.

Of course, the human body develops a tolerance to alcohol, meaning that over time, she'd need more and more. Naturally, that meant more of her money going toward booze.

When Arabelle returned to her office holding her fried noodles and booze, she could already see from afar the little red dot blinking on the steps at her office's door.

She liked to call this the "Red Star of Incoming Cash."

An anxious client, nervously smoking away, almost always meant they wanted to get rid of either a demon or a spouse. This would mean a higher commission fee.

If she got lucky, she could take on an extra job after dinner and have enough money to last the entire week.

When she got closer, she realized it was a man and a woman standing in the darkness.

She nodded knowingly—definitely a divorce case. This was the husband and his mistress. They were here to discuss how to get rid of the "nagging wife." It certainly called for a professional opinion.

For Arabelle, it was easy. A simple Forgetfulness Curse or a Madness Spell would do the trick—ensuring that the man's wife couldn't even remember her own name.

And if she somehow remembered, Arabelle could always charge more to deal with the husband...

This chapter upload first at NovelUsb.Com

"A divorce is $100. Making your wife forget everything, $200. Making her go mad, $300. Which one do you want?"

She spoke while holding a cigarette between her lips, fiddling with her keys to open the door. The man wore a slightly greasy suit—maybe a restaurant cook? And the woman was actually wearing a hooded cloak. What was this, British fashion from 100 years ago?

Su Ming studied Arabelle closely. She really did resemble Constantine—Lucifer's prank was indeed amusing.

Aside from her wearing high heels and being a little cleaner than Constantine, whether it was her manner of speaking or her half-dead look, they were practically identical.

The office itself was far cleaner than Constantine's living spaces, perhaps because of her part-time divorce work. Compared to Constantine, Arabelle had a somewhat better life.

Constantine had no office. He squatted in someone else's basement—or, more often, he'd opt to live in the House of Mystery.

Su Ming made himself at home, sitting down on the sofa, while Diana remained silent. She didn't care much for Arabelle's tone or attitude. Helping husbands deal with their wives like that went against the Amazon's values.

Let alone doing it with such transparent fees.

But Su Ming liked it. This was business, after all—mercenaries thought in such terms.

Why was Batman so quick to pay him? Wasn't it because the Dark Knight feared that an interdimensional Deathstroke would turn and work for Lex Luthor?

"I'll give you $500. What can you do?"

Arabelle paused, in the middle of transferring her noodles from a takeout box into a bowl, then turned around with an evil grin.

"Ruthless, huh? I like your cruelty. But $500 isn't enough for me to kill anyone. At most, I'll send your wife to hell for a few days."

"What about $1,000?"

"Mmm... I'll send her to heaven for a few days."

Arabelle found a pair of chopsticks in the cabinet, eating the noodles with ease. Of course, she didn't forget her alcohol. A bite of noodles, followed by a large swig of whiskey.

"Huh? Isn't heaven a good place?" Diana asked, confused. After all, her home was called Themyscira—Paradise Island.

With her mouth full of fried noodles, Arabelle answered unclearly, "This lady's voice sounds nice, but the question is rather naive. Is heaven really that good?"

"What bad could there be? You've never been there, have you?" Diana asked, not satisfied.

"Tsk tsk... hic..."

The beautiful mage hiccuped, not caring about her image at all. "I hold an official mage association license. I know a thing or two about these things. First, there's no entertainment in heaven. At least in hell, you can use your soul as a poker chip. Second, heaven is always daytime—only light, no shadow. Third, there's no food there; eating clouds can't fill your stomach."

"Any normal person would be driven mad there," Su Ming added. He knew what heaven was like.

If your soul went to Valhalla, that was enjoyment. Big bowls of meat, big mugs of ale, with plenty of strong men to spar with.

But heaven had nothing. Besides a bunch of winged bird-people, there was absolutely nothing.

According to the comics, Lucifer used to say that his biggest pastime in heaven was to take walks in God's garden.

Arabelle nodded, slurping her noodles at her desk, "You know your stuff. Did you get rid of an ex-wife in the past? But there's one more important point you missed. Angels have an ingrained charm spell, making it easy for mortals to fall for them. But angels are androgynous. They don't have those parts—they don't even have waste removal organs. So, you can look but not touch! Hahaha!"

She told a dirty joke, spilling some noodles as she laughed. She noticed the man beside her awkwardly smiling along, while the woman in the cloak glared coldly from under her hood.

"Su Ming said she's a demon worshipper—guess it's true," Diana thought.

What she didn't know was that jokes about angels' lack of anatomy had always been popular in hell.

Su Ming had once wondered if Lucifer's fall had something to do with it. He traded his wings for something else—and since then, he'd been living quite the fulfilling life.

After arriving in hell, he ended up with both a son and a daughter.

"Not a bad joke. I'll give you ten thousand."

Su Ming nodded, indicating his intention to hire her.

"Cough!"

Arabelle almost choked on her whiskey, her brow furrowing, "I don't think I could make money off jokes. You're messing with me, aren't you?"

"Twenty thousand," Su Ming said. That kind of money meant nothing to him now—someone like Arabelle, who often lingered around street corners, couldn't begin to imagine just how wealthy Batman was.

"Heh, you think I'm that easy to buy? It must be a difficult job, right?"

Arabelle eyed the two of them warily, readying herself to cast a spell.

Su Ming laughed. With the influence of his helmet and Stranglehold, the laugh sounded more like a ghost's wail.

Stranglehold helped pull some money out of his bag and handed it over—about a thousand dollars' worth.

"Help us investigate the mysterious deaths in the magical community lately. Here's a thousand as a down payment. Just tell me if you'll take the job."

Arabelle immediately jumped up from her chair, grabbed the bills, and ran them through her bill counter.

All real. No magic tracking spells or traps on them.

"Alright, tonight I'm yours!"

"If I give you a little more, are you going to say, 'Don't even consider me human tonight'?"

Su Ming stood up, teasing her. For now, since Arabelle could still use magic properly, it meant Lucifer was alive. It seemed the search for Dream could be delayed—he'd see what was happening with the Dark Justice League first.

Arabelle rolled her eyes at him, pocketing the money as she slipped into her trench coat and put her bottle of alcohol inside.

As a mage, she'd known that many sorcerers had died mysterious deaths lately, but it had nothing to do with her. She never meddled in others' affairs.

But now that someone was paying her to solve it, that was another matter altogether.

"If you think you can have me for that money, you'll need to offer a lot more... a lot more."

She arched one eyebrow, a hint of sadness flashing in her eyes, but the emotion was soon obscured by the smoke from her cigarette.