Fishing Livestream - Chapter 5: A Bountiful Harvest (2nd update, please favorite, please invest)

After thousands of years of silence, the world of cultivation once again welcomed the golden age.

Year one of the New Era, the Demon King was defeated by the Hero, divided into thirteen parts, and sealed all over the world. Only the soul can reincarnate and be reborn.Year sixteen of the New Era, in the tavern of a small town on the border, a young maid named Mohe sees a middle-aged man who only brags to deceive people for drinking money. However, she knows better than anyone that he was the Hero who defeated her and split her into thirteen parts.“The former Demon King is now wearing maid clothes and working as a server here?”“The great Hero sir, instead of being affectionate with your harem group, you bark here like a stray dog, deceiving for food and drink. How is that different from a beggar?”

He was weak, he was depressed, he was a loser.
He wasn't even Lvl 10 in the game when Earth was destroyed in the Quake and the players of Redlands were transmigrated to the fantastic world of Zushkenar.
But he lived, learned, and died again.
Now, he was back on Earth, one year and three months before the Quake.
Deciding to rejoin the game earlier and with greater focus, what changes would he bring with his actions?
What life would he live?

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paypal.me/JInDaoran

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There's a map for the lands of Zushkenar posted on the DeviantArt website:
https://www.deviantart.com/kilrain/art/Hunters-Guide-map-cities-grid-b-877682076

It's not complete, but it'll give an idea of the general geography.

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The background image for the cover is part of a landscape by moinzon taken from pixabay.com

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.”