After Giving up, the Fake Young Lady Was Group-Pampered - Chapter 276 - : Humanoid Iron Wall

On the 15th of March 2139, the world mourns the passing of Darius Stone, billionaire broker, and philanthropist.

Yet while his family and friends put his body to rest, Darius wakes up to find himself reborn into a younger body in a different world.

A strange voice informs him that his soul has been transported into the magic-filled world of Faust on the behest of a mysterious Goddess called Vena, for the sole purpose of entertaining her through his struggles.

In this world where any dream can be achieved with enough effort, he sets out to become a Supreme, an existence above Mortals and even Gods!

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Warning: This novel features a villainous protagonist. If you have enjoyed Warlock of the Magus World, then you should be able to tolerate Darius Stone’s actions and choices throughout the novel in terms of Morality.

Note: This story is slow-paced in order to allow for better world-building and development. If you’re looking for a fast-paced action story, this might not be for you.

Wake up and an unknown door has appeared in your home… Behind each door is a completely unfamiliar world.In the nightmare world, Jiang Cheng relays the news from the Hunk to the Fatty, adding his own spin to the story.The Fatty almost cried in fear hearing it.“My whole family will be strung upside down for blood-letting if I die here?”“That’s what I heard.”“Then, how come you don’t look scared at all?” The fatty widened his eyes.Jiang Cheng turned around and replied in a very formal tone, “Because I’m an orphan.”

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.”