Trafford's Trading Club - Volume 10 – Chapter 27.2 - We’re Just Ordinary People (Part 2)

It all started when a minute before we began morning activities, something suddenly occurred. The floor started shining a dazzling light, the shining expanded in an instant, and 30 classmates, including me, were laying on top of a place we didn’t recognize.

Lynn embarks on a fantastical journey to a realm reminiscent of medieval Europe, yet infused with extraordinary magical abilities. Here, the very fabric of reality is governed by the enigmatic theory of magic, which harnesses and manipulates fundamental particles.

In this world, wizards, who are essentially scientific spell casters, find themselves locked in a relentless battle against the oppressive Church.

However, when Lynn arrives, a harbinger of an otherworldly Renaissance, the tides of change are set in motion, unveiling a thrilling tale of discovery, intrigue, and the struggle for enlightenment.

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.”