There must be something wrong with me - Chapter 727 - 270: Returning to the Truth of the Great Immortal of Ling Mountain

I, Ichinosuke, failed to get a job for 100 consecutive times. Furthermore, my record is still being updated as unemployed.

Gods and demons are everywhere in the Grand Desolate World.

He had crossed into the dark, ruthless Wizard World.Lucien found his system somewhat different from the usual golden finger.System upgrade points? Chip activation?None of these, but rather becoming a role model, transforming into a nurturing breeze:Teaching students knowledge, receiving advanced knowledge in return.Caring for and maintaining students, earning generous rewards.[Your student has mastered the Magic Potion “Kuru's Cough,” congratulations on acquiring the improved formula “Kuru's Cough - Enhanced”!][Your student has mastered witchcraft “Fireball,” congratulations on learning witchcraft “Greater Fireball”!][Your student has successfully crafted the wizard's tool “Pale Mask,” congratulations on acquiring the wizard tool’s manual “Revised Pale Mask”!]Initially, Lucien was resistant.But after experiencing what it was like to teach disciples and outdo them, Lucien felt he had completely transformed into the form of the master system.This thing, isn't it much more useful than something called Cheating Device?

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.”