MTL - The Book of Troubled Times - Chapter 279 Representative of fantasy, storage ring

“9th Class Low Grade Familiar.”He was shocked to find that he had summoned the weakest familiar that could be.Only when he saw the status, he couldn't help being more shocked.“Hypnosis? Why can no one else see this? What even is this skill?”

Lin Xuan transmigrated into a world where demon beasts rampaged. He became one of the lowest ranking wasteland reclaimers in the Germinal Organization to explore the mystic realms.

The Zero Realm mystic realm was the Giant Rock Cave. The First Realm mystic realm was the Demon Ant Nest. The Second Realm mystic realm was the Tree King Sea.

[Congratulations on seizing a Gold Swallowing Lizard as one of your avatars for gaining more experience. Do you want it to begin its training?]

[Your current location is first floor of the Giant Rock Cave. (1 coin per minute. 5 exp points per minute)]

[Gold Swallowing Lizard has been training for 4 hours. Do you wish to collect its experience?]

Lin Xuan’s eyes were wide open. He was well-versed in how this worked. This was similar to the AFK games that he played in his previous world.

As such, he began his comfortable journey of becoming the strongest.

Up until one point, the Germinal Organization discovered that he was abnormal and decided to deal with him. It only then did Lin Xuan realize that even Seventh Realm fighters and the managers of the organization were inferior to him.

A protagonist reborn in another world.

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.”