MTL - From the Head Pillar Tanjiro, Take Stock of the Wonderful Nicknames of Zongman - Chapter 2

There was a man in the modern world that built his business empire from scratch. He was hailed as a genius by his peers and was respected worldwide due to his contributions to the world.If it is not only for that unfortunate accident that led to his death. He was a man who could potentially change the world with his mind that still stores a plethora of ideas.But—fate had others plan with him. He found himself in another world, what’s more, it’s primitive and technologically backwards compared to his last world. And what’s more, he turned into his younger self, and in this world, he was an orphaned boy.For him to survive, he must use everything that he had at his disposal, and that was all in his head.

He was the scion cast aside by a powerful family, and he had hoped to return to a peaceful life in the city, but unexpectedly, trouble arose once more!

Ge Xiu is a nefarious star criminal. After being arrested, according to the Interstellar Supreme Law, he will face two choices: either serve a sentence of 1156 years in black prison or enter countless virtual worlds and become a miserable person who is tortured and abused all his life. How much he suffers is how much his sentence can be reduced. Ge Xiu chose the second one without hesitation.

So… The trial surveillance system stared dumbfounded at the Former•Interstellar Most•Wanted•Criminal•Currently•Weak•Poor Ge Xiu in the virtual world, punching the empire, kicking the Federation, overthrowing oppression and building a new world. Then he turned his head to the camera and cried: “I’ve had a miserable life, really.”

“…” The surveillance system that was about to explode of anger: “Like hell I’d believe you!”

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.”