The Crimson Reaper - Chapter 62: Arriving at the Shelter (1)

He is the master of six kingdoms. As long as he wanted, his cavalry is ready to wipe off any country.

“It’s true… So why does no one believe me?”Sometimes, I play small pranks, but they’re really just small ones.I’m not the mastermind at all.

One of the seven strongest people on the continent, the King of Mercenaries. He started a war to avenge his fallen family and destroyed territory but failed and lost his life. However… “Wow, I’m alive?” I returned to the past, back through time. A perfect opportunity to right my regrets and reverse everything. It doesn’t matter if people around me point fingers, calling me a scoundrel, or dismiss me as tr*sh. Because… “I’ve got a plan.” “What plan?” “A plan to destroy everything.” There won’t be a second failure. This time, I’ll wipe out all my enemies. …But first, I need to rebuild this damn estate.

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.”