I like them big, do you? - Chapter 5: Its not fair

Noir, third son of a “beggar noble,” lost his job and was at a loss, but fortune struck just as he was contemplating becoming an adventurer.

One day, a Tower appeared, and with it a proclamation by God that Humanity is to be judged for becoming too corrupt.Regression…It’s an ability so fraudulent that it doesn’t require any detailed explanation.Yes, I also agree that it is a fraudulent ability, but…Isn’t it too much to regress due to just a slightest injury…?

“Dragon-riding” Prince Craft returned to the imperial capital after traveling around. Refraining from his coronation, he received marriage proposals from each country.

Although Craft dislikes marriage, he established the “Bride Training Department” and he will marry the woman who remained at last. If it’s done at all, it’s fascinating!

In front of Craft who volunteered to be the lecturer and the referee of this training department, each lovely and perfect bride appeared one after another!

A positive female pervert-like cousin, a glamorous beast girl, a black-haired swordsman with ponytail, a blond small breasted princess and a tanned and lively girl with big breasts. These 5 girls approach Craft! A expressionless maid and a brave loli halfsister join the tumult, too!

Who does the Dora Prince choose!? How about all of them! This is the start of a harem, romantic and comedy 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.”