Atticus's Odyssey: Reincarnated Into A Playground - Chapter 128 Training 3

The demon Sang Jiuchi woke up from a seal and found that he was bound to the Quick Transmigration system, and the characters he took over were all without exception, the worst villains.

Blackmailing the top streamer but ended up killing his own despicable tech genius…

The vicious true young master who framed the fake young master but suffered the consequences…

The murderous master who humiliated his apprentice but was killed…

The sinister mermaid who seduced the general and was slaughtered…

The hypocritical pope who deceived people and was burned at the stake…

- Description from Novelupdates

Sagiri was born in silence, no cry, no breath, no heartbeat, until a pulse of ancient energy tore through the air and marked him as the last child of a dead people. Cold, disciplined, and frighteningly calm for his age, Sagiri has spent his life hiding a power even he doesn’t fully understand. He does not smile. He does not fear. He does not allow anyone close. Because the thing living inside him 'The Echo' never sleeps.

I was transported into the romantic fantasy novel my younger sister was reading, not as the male lead but as the second male lead. If I remember correctly, this punk is fated to go into war in the future and die in the male lead’s place.

Okay, I’ve made up my mind. Let’s not go anywhere near the main characters and stay healthy until I can go home.

Dear readers! Fresh green style, maybe you will like it more in .

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”