The Villain Has Something to Say - Chapter 163 - Primordial Life and Lotus (III)

On the night of Xiao Ke’s thirtieth birthday, he shared a table while drinking. The person he shared the table with was a cool man who fit all of his aesthetic desires. It was practically love at first sight.

He was thirty; he had reached that age where he was no longer the awkward twenty-something youth. He would pursue the one he liked without hesitation, no questions asked.

“I want you to give me a tattoo. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

- Description from Novelupdates

This is the story of a young man who was reincarnated as a dragon with a near-insatiable curiosity. Initially sparked by questioning his own reincarnation, he quickly gets lost in the endless world of magic, using his deep understanding of advanced sciences to learn the laws and properties of a new type of energy known as mana.However, soon enough, the table would flip, and he would begin using that very same energy to expand his knowledge of science, to the point that he would begin questioning his own understanding of the world.Although not his original intention, with the combination of his intelligence, expanding curiosity, and the 'miracles' that occurred to allow for his existence, he quickly found himself climbing the mountain of strength as if it were a small hill before eventually climbing to a point where it seemed as if he himself was the peak itself.Even if.. that was never the case...There is mild gore, and profanity is 'censored' toward the beginning, but not later in the story.

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.”