MTL - Looking After a Battle God With Hundreds of Billions in Supplies - Chapter 472 I am here

“You dragged me into this world. Now you kneel in it.” — Tim SlokovBy day, Tim Slokov was a quiet office drone. By night, a ruthless online critic of fantasy novels. But when a mysterious force transmigrates him into the dying body of an elven outcast—doomed and powerless—Tim realizes he’s become the tragic background character of someone else’s story.Only he refuses to die quietly.Denied justice, Tim is granted a single gift: the Shattered Necromancy System, a broken power fueled by death itself.[Seek Me, O Death — Passive]: Every kill becomes a servant. Every soul feeds his army.[Death Embrace — Active]: He becomes what he commands—gaining the power of his dead.[Arise — Active]: The battlefield becomes his stage, where his fallen rise again.Armed with cursed power, Tim must evolve himself—and his ever-growing legion of the dead—to claw his way up a world that wants him erased. But vengeance is only the beginning. As his strength grows, so does the truth behind his forced arrival... and the god-like force that wants him broken.Tim isn’t here to play the hero.He’s here to rewrite fate—one death 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.”

This is an alternate history. Decades after the fall of the Eastern Jin Dynasty, the world is still in chaos, although there is hope for reunification.