MTL - Quick Transmigration, the Male Lead is Not Easy to Top - Chapter 280 Uncle (2)

Zero, a 35-year-old mercenary, after being betrayed by one of his teammates who told his enemy about him. He chooses suicide so that he can kill his enemy and his traitor teammate. After that, he was reincarnated into the world of magic, in the body of an 18-year-old teenager with the same name as him. However, his body does not have mana or the talent for magic. But with the help of the cultivation system, he has unrivaled power in the world and has a harem of beautiful wives.

Promise transmigrated to the TYPE-MOON world and became one of the students of Waver Velvet at the Clock Tower.But a dream must eventually come to an end.Upon waking from a night's sleep, he recalled his identity as a transmigrator and also discovered his golden finger.A Heroic Spirit Class Card.It can take Promise to different eras, and by leaving behind corresponding legends, he can ultimately ascend to the Throne of Heroes!He thus travelled to ancient Greek mythology and Norse mythology.Promise: “I heard after death, you can ascend to the Throne of Heroes. What are you waiting for, come on, kill me!”(PS: This book is not a traditional simulator story; its content mainly revolves around the Age of Gods, hence the Age of Gods is a long narrative!I didn't use TYPE-MOON in the title as it was already too large)

I have clairvoyance, and I can see antique treasures no matter where they are hidden. Is there anything else in the world that I can’t go to?

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”