My OP Minion System in the Apocalypse - Chapter 207 The Side Character Has A Scholarship - Part 6 [Chloe]

“Welcome aboard the Dimensional Rift game exclusive train. This train will depart from the Level E Departure Station and head to Level D stations. Please ensure your safety while boarding in an orderly manner and abide by the train rules.”“The train rules are as follows:”“1. Do not bring non-game items onto the train. (Underwear is the exception)”“2. Consumption is mandatory. (All train staff are unpaid volunteers)”“3. Do not turn on the lights after they are out. (Except for those who are exceptionally talented and courageous)”“Additionally, the train encourages various leisure activities such as sneak attacks, brawling, and predation. Players are free to choose.”“We wish you a pleasant journey.”

I reincarnated into a fantasy world. Since I somehow got born again, I resolved myself to live diligently once more. But, putting that aside, my entire village burning up and disappearing when I’m 8-year old f*cking crossed the line. F*cking shit-f*cking crossed the line!

Various monsters came out from mysterious gates that appeared all over the world. Along with this incident, humans also gained power and were called hunters.

Radmilo Laiv is a hunter with the power to control time. He spent his life serving the world government and becoming a hero. However, he was killed because his power was considered a threat to the government.

It was a stroke of luck that Radmilo could return to the past because of his powers. In this life, he doesn’t want to be a hero anymore. Should he play the evil role and become a villain?

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.”