MTL - After Waking up Beside the Villain - Chapter 168 Wear to "Pear Garden of the Republic of China" 12 Do you want to or not...

Oh Kang-Woo suddenly fell into Hell one day. The only things he had were his desire to live and the Authority of Predation. He devoured hundreds of thousands of demons from the First Hell all the way to the Ninth Hell, and even made the seven princes of Hell bow down to him.

“Why are you trying to go back? You already have everything that you could possibly desire here in Hell.”

“I have everything? Like what?”

There was nothing to eat or enjoy! The only things in Hell were desolate lands and hideous demons!

“I’m going back.”

He finally goes back to Earth after ten grueling millennia.

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Is it wrong to face the perils of Dungeon alone, in a single-member guild blessed by a failed goddess? Maybe.

Is it wrong to dream of playing hero to hapless maidens in Dungeon? Maybe not. After one misguided adventure, Bell quickly discovers that anything can happen in the labyrinth-even chance encounters with beautiful women.

Only problem? He’s the one who winds up the damsel in distress!

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.”

To Producers, the two of them couldn’t be more drastically different voice actors.