All the Elders in My Sect Are My Avatars! - Chapter 77 – Missions

A crunchy and crispy chicken. The stretchy cheese on pizza, and eating ramyeon at 1 in the morning! I only wanted to eat delicious food. So why is my life in danger because of bulimia*?!

There’s a place where I can fulfill my most cherished dream of eating everything I want!

The virtual reality game Athenae!

I’m just eating well but isn’t this a bit weird?

The true value of food

(Acquired +1 STR)

The stat went up.

Note: *Raw says 폭식 결여증 which literally means deficiency in binge eating. I’m assuming this is the Non-purging Type of Bulimia.

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The system: We must take the plot seriously!

Mo Fan: Ok.

The system: We cannot be OOC!

Mo Fan: Yes.

The system: We have to be cold. We must be ruthless. We cannot lose ourselves in this imaginary world.

Mo Fan: …no problem.

Not long after…

Mo Fan: System, can we talk? Hold my gong and take him away.

System: ……

- Description from Novelupdates

What will an ordinary man do if he finds out he is God in an Otome game? Of course, save the game’s Evil character, Morrigan! Unknowingly spread more chaos! Establish your own kingdom! Establish your own religion! Kill the Goddess of Light!

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.”