The Only Fuel Is Using The D. - Chapter 391

It was the Great Age of Pirates, surging forward with their thousand sails unfurled.

One young man from earth ate the Goro Goro no Mi (Rumble-Rumble Fruit) and joined the Marine.

Justice vs Evil, Freedom vs Tyranny, the colliding waves between them would never cease.

But all of this…..”I couldn’t care less about!!”

At the summit of the war, surrounded by ten thousand people, Rowen held a thunder halberd in hand and walked forward with strong steps.

Rivals meet face to face, but only one could become the King.

The eldest son of the assassin aristocrat Tuatha Dé.

The skill, experience, knowledge of the previous life, magic, all of which grows his power as an assassin.

Excellent assassins pass through. He was usually admired as the ideal lord, and behind it wielded a blade as an assassin aristocrat.

After nine years of traveling with her parents, Long Shiyan’s family encountered a group of bandits. Although her parents died, Long Shiyan was able to escape from them with the help of a system. From it, she learned that she was stuck inside the world of a harem novel! In order to revive her parents, Long Shiyan must prevent the protagonist of the original novel, Long Aotian, from capturing wives and attaining a harem. Otherwise, the world would end!

But, after saving a future harem member from Long Aotian’s clutches, why did this girl obtain a more terrifying characteristic than blackening into a villainess…

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”