Ouroboros Record ~Circus of Oubeniel~ - Chapter 56: The Oubeniel Dining Table (1)

Humanity has been gradually transported to the Abyss by a bored god to compete against other races and monsters.The problem is… humanity failed. In a last desperate push the strongest survivors chose a comrade to travel as far as possible back in time.

The ordinary world is not ordinary, ordinary people are not ordinary, and safe places are not safe.

This is a story of a passer-by male protagonist who is entangled by various girls with strange hobbies or even non-human beings while surviving in the cracks and opening a harem.

- Description from novelbuddy

Indra (5) grew up in her family while being shunned and ostracized. When she regained the memories of her previous life, she decided to run away from home and thus trained herself to absurdity.

During her training, she encountered the young adventurer Sword, who looked just like a middle-aged guy. Worrying about the impertinent, eccentric, pointlessly strong young girl, Sword invited her to go on a journey with him.

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.”