Unchosen Champion - Chapter 342: Vanquisher of Demons

Emperor Zi Yu used 5 strikes of his axe to split mountains and unify everyone underneath the heavens. He partitioned the land into 9 areas, thus establishing the Nine Cauldrons which eventually became known as the 9 prefectures.

Haruma Kazuki is a cursed (or maybe just deeply unfortunate) high school student whose lewd, panicked, or absurd thoughts literally manifest in reality — especially when he tries not to think about them. The more he denies or avoids feelings, the more chaotic and trope-heavy the consequences.

I just woke up and the beautiful disciple was feeding me medicine. I drank it without any precautions. As a result, when the beautiful disciple came out, I scrolled through my memory and found out...Oh my god, I traveled to another world and became the Supreme Pontiff of the Qian Xunji Spirit Hall?!In the beginning, I encountered a situation where Tang Hao seriously injured me and Bibi Dong was going to kill me in revenge.Fortunately, I activated the Villain Douluo System. As long as I make the righteous miserable, I can continue to become stronger.Tang San, Yu Xiaogang, Tang Hao... your nightmare is approaching.

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.”