OP Absorption - Chapter 5: Fail...

What the hell is this? What the hell happened here?

Three years ago, in the land of Reinbulk, a Legendary Hero was summoned in the Kindom of Leezalion and he succeeded in repelling the Demon King. Now, five students are summoned back into Reinbulk by the Kingdom of Luxeria to fight against the Demon King and the demon army. Unlike the other heroes, Yashiro Yuu has no magical affinity and the Luxeria Kingdom has no intention on acknowledging his existence or returning him to his world.

A villainess known by all as a wicked woman who has done all sorts of evil deeds—Ducal Lady Violet.
She regained her memories of her previous life after she fell into a lake and almost died.
The very moment she woke up, she immediately visited her father, Duke Everett, and asked one thing.

“Please confine me to the annex.”

And so, she imprisoned herself there.
Now that Violet was secluded away from the world’s criticism and reproach,
She immersed herself in her previous life’s memories and started painting them.

“What the hell are you up to this time?”

Everyone was suspicious of just what she might be scheming.
However, the misunderstandings surrounding her gradually got resolved one at a time…

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.”