Jikuu Mahou de Isekai to Chikyuu wo Ittarikitari - Chapter 17 – SHOPPING AND SUSHI

The world of Wageah was vast. It was filled with ancient magic, fallen gods, legendary mages, and exciting adventures.Earthlings summoned there gained godlike power.Zeus, Odin, Count Dracula, the Monkey King. All of them were humans who returned from Wageah and became legends on Earth.But my class and I, who were summoned to Wageah?We were enslaved.We were used, discarded, and left to die.But fate gave me another chance.I woke up as a newborn on Earth with all my memories intact. And soon after…[Awakening Supreme God's Treasure: Shadow][System Boot Successful]I gained strongest weapon in existence. [Shadow]. The treasure of the Supreme God.This time, I’ll grow stronger from the cradle. And when I return to Wageah—I won’t be a slave.I’ll be the shadow that devours the gods.

Thrown into a brutal world of swords and sorcery, his memories stolen by an unseen force, Magnus wanted only one thing: to go home.But every kingdom, devil, and god — along with regressors, possessors, and fellow reincarnators — seeks to carve him apart.Survival demands war. War demands survival.And with a System that hides more than it reveals, Magnus is dragged down a bloodstained path... one battle, one betrayal, one broken world at a time.

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.”

“My name is Yang Jian, when you are reading this, I am already dead.”A mysterious sheepskin scroll, an eye that peers into darkness, this is the tale of a survivor