MTL - Counterattack Strategies - Chapter 4

“How did a perfectly fine magic world invested by ghosts?”Aya looked at the ghosts in front of her silently and raised her hand to cast a spell.She came to the past and wanted to change the tragedy written in the history books. But how did these ghosts come with her too?Ah, will she cause early destruction of the world?Uh......“Teacher, if I tell you that I didn't mean it, would you stop being angry?” Aya trembled when she looked at the man in front of her.She didn't meant to offend him!“Oh?” Her teacher looks back and smiled faintly. Did she think she could escape after provoking him?“Ah, ah, ah....”Aya swore that she didn't mean to provoke her young teacher. But it seemed that it was inevitable?QAQ

Following a regrettable teleportation gate incident, freshly graduated spatial mage Tila found himself in a strange bipolar world. On one side are the sexless humans, completely isolated from the rest of the world inside their domes. On the other side lies the bustling outside world, composed of a myriad of non-human species.Should he focus on the humans and teach them a thing or two about their bodies? Or should he mingle with the spirited outside species?Of course, he shall do both, by becoming the sole true interspecies trader!

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.”