Isekai'd Into The Wrong World - Chapter 103: Ch - Stubborn Old Hag

Eight Thousand Years after the Glassing of Earth, Terran Descent Humanity has largely become a post-scarcity society based on consent and enjoying life. With the discovery of another ancient race beyond the “Great Gulf”, events and history collide to draw the Terran Confederacy into war against a hundred million year old empire that has always won and believes it always will. With allies and enemies of multiple species, the Orion Galactic Arm Spur will be wracked by warfare the likes of which have not been seen. Cracked, harried, wounded, and damaged, Terran Descent Humanity willfully throws itself against the universe itself. “The universe hates you and will take away everything you love, laughing while it does so.” - Terran belief.

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 .

A millennium had passed, and everything had lost its meaning in his eyes. Many heroes emerged from generation to generation, but he stood the test of time. That was his life, waiting for someone to come along and defeat him, but no one did. Nobody dared. Nobody tried.How can he allow this to happen? With the aid of his magic, he rose from his throne and set out into another world in search of excitement and, perhaps, a worthwhile adventure.What would happen if this last boss decided to venture into the human world for fun?

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.”