The Four Swords - Chapter 140: No Title

Ezekiel died on Earth only to be resurrected in the body of a Lich

Well, now he’d done it. He was only playing the villain to blow off steam, now he was stuck in the body of one.

Trapped in a hostile world, Zeke must flee his former guild. The problem is, he can only flee into a holy kingdom ruled by the Church of Olattee. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Only his power is gone, and he must start over.

Well…. Mostly anyway, he is still a lich after all and he still has his weapon, Mercy, which is more powerful than even he knows.

……………………………………………………………

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Lugis is an adventurer who accompanies the Hero’s team party. However, every day he has to fulfill tasks that are not pleasant at all. In addition, he is oppressed by the other members of the group. The only reason he remains on this journey is because of his childhood friend, Ariane. But she is fascinated with the team leader known as Hero. One day a shadow figure appears and tell Lugis, “Let me give you a chance. A chance to redraw your life.” And so, Lugis is given the opportunity to be sent to the past to restart his life.

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.”