Survival Story of a Sword King in a Fantasy World - Chapter 260

In the 21st century, she was the talented leader of the hidden family clan, once she crossed over, she became the number one waste?

Break off an engagement? A good-for-nothing? Open your ​​eyes and see clearly!

This lady here can just throw you into the skies and let you be closer to the sun.

With a red fan in hand to blow the world into a whirl of chaos, carving a name for herself under the skies.

- Description from Novelupdates

Three years ago, in the land of Reinbulk, a Legendary Hero was summoned in the Kindom of Leezalion and he succeeded in repelling the Demon King. Now, five students are summoned back into Reinbulk by the Kingdom of Luxeria to fight against the Demon King and the demon army. Unlike the other heroes, Yashiro Yuu has no magical affinity and the Luxeria Kingdom has no intention on acknowledging his existence or returning him to his world.

Qi Condensation. Foundation Establishment. Core Formation. In the current world, only these three realms are known to be achievable. Nascent Soul is but a legend and the realms above it lost to the the long river of time. The modern era is known as Cultivation Civilization, a balance of power and civility, excess and moderation. While cultivation remains a secret practice, it has long since exposed itself to the mundane world, quietly intertwined with each facet of society. While the world appears to be at peace, what lies underneath is a conflict between human, cultivator, and demon, brewing for ages and waiting to implode. Yet in the wake of humanity’s rapid industrialization, qi—and consequently cultivation—is dying.

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.”