The Sword Deity in Tokyo - Chapter 301: Kanayama

Beautiful doctor of Chinese medicine, Yu Gangan woke up from a coma one day to a cold, mysterious man. “Excuse me, you are…?”

A pair of profound eyes focused on her and replied, “Fang Zhihan, your husband.”

Did this man take her for a fool? He was obviously a fraud!

A little while down the track, he pulled her into his arms and whispered beside her ear, “Who am I?”

This time, Yu Gangan froze and replied, “Fang Zhihan, my husband.”

If he was a patient, then she was his sweetest medicine…

- Description from Novelupdates

There was no light in the night, save for the sound of war drums and war cries.

The young man listened carefully, it was the sound of his heartbeat and the flow of his blood.

What lay hidden in the darkness ahead? Is it man, god or……a monster?

There was no such thing as the best road, because the journey beneath one’s feet is limitless!

Elias' world was destroyed right in front of his eyes. Only after his transmigration did he learn that there was nothing natural about its destruction.“Mother, I passed my Practical Exams! I was so lucky to get a weak world like Earth for my practicals! It only took a few months!”The person who destroyed his world was the eldest son of the family he was transmigrated to, the Ashborns.He could never forget his sister's cries when she suffered and eventually died from the virus that wreaked havoc in his world. And here he was, the person responsible, laughing.Elias wanted to repay the favor. He wanted to bring absolute ruination to these people. And for that, he had to play by their rules. He had to become the Architect of an Apocalypse…

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.”