Pokémon Court - Chapter 405: Altaria vs Dragonite

Liszt finds himself reborn as a countryside baron in an alternate world resembling medieval Europe. In this world, there are dragons that can discharge metals, elves that can tend to crops, and missions written in mist that only Liszt can see. With the help of the mysterious missions, can Liszt gradually grow from Baron of Flower Town into something greater, claiming the whole continent and beyond?

Xu Feng transmigrated into the cultivation world with only one useless cheat.When he was born, the Golden Armored Spirit Turtle had just hatched, and according to the family tradition, it was bestowed upon him as his companion spiritual beast.Thinking that the Golden Armored Spirit Turtle had an extraordinary bloodline, he believed it would become a great companion in the future.However, to his surprise, it took twenty years for it to reach the Qi-Refining stage.So Xu Feng gave up all his expectations. He decided to keep nurturing it. If he failed, he could just pass it on to future generations.Unexpectedly...A colossal golden turtle, as vast as the entire world, lay across the shattered land.Looking at the devastated world, Xu Feng harshly tapped the head of the golden turtle.“Try to be more gentle next time!”

“Be better”

Peter was cursed by those words, the very last words of his dying mother.

Cursed to be better. To be above the small squabbles... And so, the last five years of his childhood, he spent as a target of bullying, both in school and in his adoptive, step-family.

But it all changed, when a portal to another world appeared in the middle of his shed!

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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.”