I Steal the Ancestors' Sacrifices to Nourish Myself - Chapter 55 - 26: Upper Huang’s Calamity

Young Master He had always been a male god in the eyes of others.

Until one day, the god-like him died.

And he became the much detested white silk trouser-wearing second rich generation.

Male God He was unaffected by this.

In his previous life, he had sacrificed everything for his clan, now, he could finally break free from that tiring life.

The only thing was that he had gained a handicapped partner.

Initially, he thought his partner was just a weak, gullible and pure lamb.

In the end, a certain person changed entirely making everybody cry and shout daddy.

- Description from Novelupdates

Lioro blankly looked at the game-like screen in front of him.It seems he has traversed to Overlord world with a Yggdrasil like game template![Ding! Congratulations on getting the special profession 'Dimensional Traveler']“......”Can it take me home?------Epic powers check, Epic side characters check, Epic fights check, Epic Romance also check! so what are you waiting for?!?! Read now!ps: it is not a translation but original fanfic.------Worlds I plan to travel to: Danmachi(Ongoing), Demon Slayer(Ongoing), Frozen(Ongoing), Konosuba, Elden RIng, etc.-------Uncomfirmed Love Interests(Doesn't mean they have been wifed, the process is ongoing and is subjected to change under certain circumstances.)1) Hestia.2) Elsa.( yes frozen).

One day, in front of my eyes appeared a silver-haired Goddess.

What kind of bullsh*t is this woman spouting?

“…What?”

No, I’m not.

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.”