One Year Left to Play - Chapter 32 - 10: A World That Judges by Looks

Reincarnated with major advantages selected in haste. The new world is vast and hostile...a world almost infinite in scope. Essentially a Dyson Sphere created by magic and sustained by magic. A World Sphere. Can the MC delve into the mysteries of the sphere?

WARNING[R18]“Right now,” Zamian whispered, his voice low and sultry, “I'll make sure you only call my name.”“Z-Zamian, what are you... what are you doing?” she gasped as he pulled her even closer, their bodies fitting together perfectly. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, a magnetic force drawing her in.“Shh,” he whispered against her ear, his breath warm and tantalizing. “Not yet. Save that voice for later.”****Mira Adams, a 19-year-old girl, ran into the forest to escape the death that the war had brought her. Little did she know, she would meet Zamian Zan, a mysterious stranger who took her in for reasons unknown. She escaped the next day.On her 21st birthday, she finally left the small village after pleading with her grandfather, who agreed for reasons she didn’t understand. Little did she know, she was destined to marry the stranger she had met two years earlier.Zamian, now 23, is a CEO and secretly the king of a hidden kingdom. He marries Mira due to a debt her late father owed him, but that wasn't his only reason—he told her he wanted a child from her, though his true motives remain a mystery to her.

In the vast forests, towering mountains, and the wide seas, mythical creatures spread across the wide world. Some are large and terrifying, while others are small and gentle; half of them enjoy harming humans, while others wish to help them.No one knows exactly when they appeared. Some say they existed before the human race emerged, while others claim they appeared alongside the first humans in this world.Their forms and abilities vary, and different races deal with them differently. Some despise them and consider them monsters, while others revere them. Yet everyone agrees on one thing: it is best not to attempt to meddle with them.Everyone, that is, except for one person.

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.”