Obscure Op: Survive As Fallen Noble With Gunsmith Skill In Eroge World - Chapter 32 - 31 - Sam Or Stelle?

I gave them my everything.My time… my strength… my heart.I trained while they slept.I smiled when they laughed.I stayed… even when it hurt.And what did I get?Nothing.They looked at me like I was pathetic.Like, I didn’t belong.Like I was… less.But I... the naive person I am, continued trusting them.They told me to act like trash, fine—I became trash.They told me to act like a scumbag, fine—I played the role.However...One mistake, one single moment...That’s all it took.And they threw me away.But now…Someone else woke up in my body.A stranger, a man who doesn’t know the pain I suffered, but wears my face.Let’s see what he does with it.Because me?I’m done with this life, so to the soul who took over my body...This is your mess now…'Gray'.

A nordic romance that burns up coldly!

Amid the silence of the aftermath, a sealed envelope was found resting beside the fallen Infinity Blade. Its edges were worn, as though it had been carried for many years, yet the seal remained intact. Gok, known for his stoicism and strength, had written it long before the final battle, anticipating that one day his journey would reach its end.

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.”