The Ocean Lord Is Unusually Powerful - Chapter 104 - : The Ghost Pirates and the Trial (1)

I had a supporting role in a modern fantasy.

The loyal dog of a villain with an angel’s name, Cheon Sa-yeon, and an unfortunate supporting character who died on his behalf, Han Yi-gyeol.

In order to escape from Cheon Sa-yeon and survive, he must use the protagonist, Ha Tae-heon.

But Ha Tae-heon, who he thought of as a lifeline, was infinitely indifferent to him. Rather, Cheon Sa-yeon showed interest.

But besides that, something strange happened.

The events that occurred in the original story had advanced, and the gate and monster levels had risen. Even the people were “different” from the original.

The original version I was trying to use was wrong.

I became a scientist for an evil organization.…But I’m too competent.

My name is Duncan Grimshaw, A hunter, I just had been married to my wife and we still didn't have any children. One day, While exploring the Dungeon with my Party, we found a strange thing that people will never expect to find in the Dungeon, a child, a small black child that somehow lives in the Dungeon.

Seeing that, I can only wonder ... how can a child exist in the Dungeon? who's are his parents?

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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.”