The daughter of a wealthy family who had been reborn earned a lot of money - Chapter 40

It was a useless ability, right till the very end. That’s what Shion thought as he was dying. Among all the tr*sh, it was the tr*shiest that could only record.

Even when the Libra family was taking his life, his ability, ‘Notepad’, could only record.

But then, with his return, the amplification of the Notepad occurred. Not only recording and storing, but also recalling memories.

All the conditions were prepared.

“My future dream is to be a guardian knight of Libra.”

Now, Shion is about to record their downfall from the closest place to his enemies.

It was in the year 2800 of the Midgard calendar. Back then, there was a Overlord who once reigned supreme and had reached the very brink of subduing the world.

A soul named Wu Ling Feng transferred into a male magician character in DNF, that very moment Devil King’s journey officially began…

Enemies magic needs to be chanted, his doesn’t require such, it’s instantaneous magic. His second skill actually allows him to summon permanent dolls, whining Loli dolls, royal sister dolls, whatever he wants…

Loli girl : Onii-chan, don’t do that, it will be painful, ar…

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”