Reborn as His Intellectually Disabled Wife - Chapter 18 - : Raising a Few Small Animals

Arsene Academy – the best educational institution on the continent.

A place that’s famous for nurturing many talented people.

A warrior from a barbarian tribe enters the academy.

After the brutal loss of his beloved grandfather, Liam Hunter embarks on a harrowing journey into the heart of the Dark Forest, known as the Forest of Kyrell, with a singular goal: to gain the strength necessary to honor his grandfather’s memory and to never lose anyone dear to him again. At just ten years old, Liam is thrust into a world of darkness and malevolence, where he endures four grueling years of training and transformation. In this shadowy realm, he is reborn as a fierce warrior, driven by a relentless desire to eradicate every demon and ultimately confront the Demon King, Emrys himself. To achieve his formidable goal, Liam must forsake any emotional connections that could weaken his resolve. The once vibrant and joyful boy is transformed by his trials into a cold and unfeeling combatant, hardened by the harsh realities of his quest. This is the story of Liam Hunter—the last wielder of dark magic—whose journey through darkness and sacrifice will shape him into a force of vengeance and resolve.

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.”