Fantasy: I Did Not Raise The Divine Beasts - Chapter 823 - : Han Mo King (1)

Seo-Joon, who had been working to save money in order to pay off his dead parents’ debt and attend a hunter academy, ended up needing to spend all his savings on a surgery due to an unfortunate accident.In his moment of despair, a weird advertisement played.[You can also become an awakener!]He decided to register since he had nothing else to lose.[Mr. Kim Seo-Joon, welcome to Transcension Academy.]This hunter academy is on a completely different ‘dimension’ than the rest!In the age of private hunter education, you can also become a ‘transcender.’

A poor and bereaved medical student rescued an injured black dog from a busy road, but the black dog bit him and gave him a clinic—the Sky Clinic. If he didn’t pay the rent on time, his life would be cut short.

In order to survive, how would Ning Tao, a new cultivator, earn the good and evil value to offset the rent? What kind of bizarre and inconsistent things that were beyond his imagination would continue to happen to him? As a person between good and evil, he must keep himself balanced. How would he enhance his cultivation in the ordinary yet fantastic urban life?

This was a story of an ordinary young man who cured people while praising virtue and punishing vice.

- Description from Novelupdates

My surname is Wu, and everyone calls me Xiao Wu.

Listen, brother, here are some of my experiences-

Don’t listen to what it says when you fight with the dragon, just fight until it dies;

It’s a little more troublesome to beat the goblin, it’s better not to let it see you, you have to shoot the black gun;

It’s a word to engage in orcs, naked!

If the devil dares to come to trouble, he will break his horns, and he will kneel;

Okay, I’m going to fight at the bar now, I’ll write more about the introduction when I get back

- 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.”