Executioner's League - Chapter 47: The Reward!

“Your stats are lower than that of your average person.”

The weakest by a mile among the otherworldlers of class 1-A, Takatsuki Makoto.

The Heroes and Sages who had cheat skills in his class had went off, and the base set lifespan is 10 years?

The Great Demon Lord is going to revive soon?

I am a Mage Apprentice?

Isn’t the balance way too bad? This damn Isekai is a tr*sh game!

“Want to be my believer?”, the Goddess that told me this has zero believers!

Aah, this is bad…I don’t think I can clear this. The Goddess with zero believers is an incredible beauty, and she is telling me she is imprisoned somewhere and is waiting to be saved. My last and hardest mission is to save the Goddess.

Clearing this Isekai that only has adversities, the story of the weakest mage.

Wyatt Jacob, a young man who hated the profession he once loved as a marine biologist after being brutally castrated and sexually assaulted by a pod of dolphins, had lived his life with pain and suffering as an impotent man having no other choice than to continue his work as a marine biologist with the emotional trauma that now accompanied it to earn a living.

But that was until he met the 'Happiness god' who granted him the chance to be reborn in the 'World of Tharcania'. A world filled with wonders and mysteries as 'a pirate; -'a prince exiled by his empire and thrown into the sea.

Now given another chance to live his life with his little brother intact, Wyatt will sail the seas of the 'World of Tharcania', exploring its beauty and wonders with the various pleasures that came with it.

Exile Ren?

The start is hell mode?

Fortunately, there are crossing benefits, and it is still a stitched monster sandbox game system!

Liver Emperor Ren? Hamster Ryan? Isn’t this basic operation?

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”