Gamers! - Volume 6, Chapter 5 – Chiaki Hoshinomori and Broken Multiplayer, Part 2 of 3

When Feng Qing was born, she was sold to a couple from the mountains due to the hospital’s negligence .

What would you feel if after living your whole life out, you found out that you're just a character in a book?

That every encounter and misfortune were just the machinations of the author?

And if one day, you will be given a chance to escape, will you grab the opportunity or remain drunk by your role?

***

Philip was one of the puppets of fate and the main character of a famous book. Yet, unlike other main characters, his life was filled with tragedy and later ended terribly.

Then one day, along with the other 99 men, he was summoned to fight for his freedom. He immediately agreed to participate. He wanted to live freely and control his own life.

However, after seeing the might of his 99 enemies, he instantly became reluctant. Can he win against those who control magic and create miracles? He was just an unlucky soulless player with no interesting ability to begin with!

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Humanity’s savior. Vanquisher of gods.

Empire’s first emperor, Juan Kalberk Kenosis.

Ahead of his final battle, he is betrayed.

The emperor eyes close as he meets his end…… so he should have.

“Which bastard brought me back to life-eee!!“

After dying and resurrecting, he looks behind the black curtain for the hidden truth. And to stop the rift that’s dividing the world, in the name of heresy he begins his fight against the empire.

The emperor has now returned!

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.”