Marvel: Master Of Role-Playing - Chapter 143: Aquaman and Namor

The constant mission is getting redemption.

Shuttle though various worlds to become a variety of scum men, do a little whitewashing and become a good man in the eyes of everyone.

Redeem those who are miserable, and let them live a happy life.

- Description from Novelupdates

Zhou Donghuang, a man from the Earth, is able to destroy any planet in the universe without lifting a finger. His supreme will can sweep across the vast cosmos in the blink of an eye. And his immortal spirit can depart from his body and wander around the universe!

After transmigrating into a SF (Science Fiction) novel and enduring cruel hardships, I ascended to the throne as the Emperor of the Galactic Empire.[Welcome to the Integrated Dimensional Community.]As the community’s Lone SF Transmigrator, I unleashed the poison of new cultures on the uncivilized primitives of the Otherworlds.-Let there be light. To judge the horde of evil, the Apostle of the Goddess sent down a Graviton Surge. Thus, in that place was light along with a massive explosion…-The Grand Duke of the North has shown great interest in your Heattech…-I, as a Namgung, am thankful for the grace akin to the vast sea provided by the Great Hero. By virtue of the Vibroblade bestowed by the Great Hero, the nefarious Demonic Cult has…It seems like these Otherworlders can’t get their sh*t together.

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.”