I Became The Academy Necromancer - Chapter 187: Answer

I am the sword.
Killing a man amidst a thousand miles, no one dares take ten steps.
Killing a man amidst a thousand miles, no one can take ten steps.
Killing a man amidst a thousand miles, ten steps? Not possible!
I am the sword, the sword is me,
On the path towards heaven, each shall wield their own.

Spicy Fabre, a YouTuber specializing in poisonous insects and venomous creatures is reincarnated in a Murim. The Tang Family of Sacheon wants him.

[Battle in different worlds] [Get characters from all worlds as imperial spirits]

Blue Star, the arena of the heavens is coming.

Yang Fan, who traveled through time, knew almost all the opponents, and he who cheated, everyone won.

Others used the few imperial spirits as bodyguards, but he used them to form the Ten Thousand Realms Legion.

Unohanaretsu VS Kozuki Momonosuke?

Tsk tsk tsk, Yang Fan said Momonosuke must die…

“Bad Handsome” Yuan Tiangang VS “Sword” Li Xiaoyao?

“I bet on Li Xiaoyao! Stud…”

[Acquisition: Imperial Sword Art]

“The Female General of the Empire” Estes VS “Xialan” Bo Han Commander?

Who else needs to consider betting?

Estes: “I have seen Master!”

“Dead Knight” Ning Caichen VS “Grass Python Hero” Xu Xian.

“…”

Yang Fan looked at the crowd of imperial spirits from various mythological systems around him.

He stated that his goal was to suppress the heavens.

- 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.”