Reborn as a Succubus: Time To Live My Best Life! - Chapter 18: Sorceress, Part Four*

A mortal teenager strayed into the immortal way because of an accident, struggling on the road of seeking immortality.

Immortal Road is difficult to climb to the sky, in the face of numerous obstacles, his desire to seek the truth is still unabated.

Looking back again, the green mountains are still there, so the old is boneless.

- Description from novelbuddy

The second moon marked the beginning of a revolutionary change.

With the emergence of monsters and dungeons in modern society, and the ability users who fight against them, the world faces a shift in its paradigm.

It heralds the advent of a new energy source and the decline of traditional occupations.

Common sense thus becomes warped and imagination becomes reality.

He lived from BC to the Middle Ages, from the Renaissance to the Industrial Revolution, and from Cyberpunk to the Interstellar Age. He has been a king and a prophet, a knight and a nobleman, a versatile artist, a genius inventor…
This is a four-thousand-year human epic——
“To us four thousand years from now:
“Is the world at peace? Is famine extinct? Can people touch the stars? How long is the human lifespan? How far is the boundary of the earth? Human…do you remember us?”
——Excavated from Earth Age Tenth Century BC, Solomon Prayer Book.

- 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.”