MTL - Country Weapon - Chapter 262 cast...

Liam Sera Banfield is a reincarnator.

He was reincarnated into a fantasy universe of swords and magic, but at a time that civilization was already making advancements into outer space.

The setting takes place in an intergalactic empire, a space opera-like universe where humanoid weapons and spaceships do battle.

Liam, who had incarnated into an aristocratic family in a monarchic society, has the ambition to one day become an evil lord.

In his previous life, Liam had unfortunately lost everything and died in despair.

— It’s foolish to live for others.

— I will live for myself.

Holding those feelings in his chest, he starts towards his second life, but is instead worshipped as a virtuous ruler from his difference in values.

Will Liam be able to safely become an evil lord?

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.”

The year 1847