I Have a Mansion in the Post-apocalyptic World (Web Novel) - Chapter 46: Rescue

Life isn’t dramatic.

Takasugi Shinsaku once mentioned, “The mind to bring interest to an otherwise uninteresting world”, but if you’ll let me have my say, “An otherwise uninteresting world is also interesting”.

The world is just right with this level of boredom.

That is the conclusion to the results of my, Kagoshima Akira’s seventeen years of lived experience.

It’s not like anything’s ever going to happen.

I mean.

Witches from other worlds,

and cyber soldiers paying a visit from the future,

and psychics fighting under the instruction of research institutions

don’t exist, after all.

Ten years ago, John and his parents were transported into a game world.This young man, full of ambition to conquer the world, unfortunately awakened the weakest class—Furniture Maker.But what troubled John most wasn’t his class.Like most transmigrators, he had a system.The only problem was—This system kept granting him strange and absurd skills.[Ding! Congratulations, Host! You’ve acquired a concept-level skill: Absolute Diarrhea Technique. Your basic attacks will cause opponents to suffer explosive diarrhea until complete exhaustion. Any creature without an anus is unworthy of being your enemy!][Ding! Congratulations, Host! You’ve acquired a concept-level skill: Mummification Wrapping Technique. Bandages crafted by you can heal all things!][Ding! Congratulations, Host! You’ve acquired a concept-level skill: You may steal and copy the abilities of anyone named John!][Ding! Congratulations, Host! You’ve acquired a bonus concept-level skill: You may forcibly rename anyone to John!]…Years later, in the Divine Realm, a lone figure stood tall above the heavens.As the sacred hymns echoed, he raised a finger—And all the gods clenched their anuses in fear.

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.”

After experiencing heartbreak from being abandoned, he enlisted in the military.

And then, he became a war hero.