Why must the devil be Defeated? - Chapter 231 - 230 Violent Dragon

27-year-old Hisha, transmigrates into the body of a thousand-year-old overpowered supreme overlord who had everything at his disposal, except one–worthy companions by his side.

Hence, a tournament was held to choose the best out of the most beautiful, unique and strong women across the land.

These women don't follow the rule of coexisting women in a harem, they fight for the right to bed their lord and would stop at nothing but to use every opportunity to seduce, and fight on his behalf just to get his attention and favor.

Hisha never liked such a barbaric method of getting a companion.

'Why choose a few, if you can have them all?'

'If he can't have them all, he would try to work out coexisting the strongest for his pleasure and benefit.'

He realizes his 'Desire System' levels him up with every adoration gotten from his harem. The stronger they get, the higher his level and hold in his world.

As he continues to break his limits with the help of his harem, he finds out there are others that threaten his rule and the balance of his land.

'Let the tournament begin!'

10 years searching for his lost sibling.

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.”