My Two Status Windows - Chapter 120

It has been more than ten years since he was transported to another world. The protagonist Deris Fahrenheit, who has became a magician with special circumstances, was freely enjoying his life in this world. However, a girl appeared before him and asked him to make her his disciple. That girl seems to be a transported person――

It’s a story of him who becomes the girl’s teacher and trains her to achieve her revenge (?) in otherworld.

Song Yang was a Mercenary King in his previous life, killed by a stray bullet. He transmigrated to a world of cultivation, where the ability to control clouds and move mountains is commonplace.In this life, after taking over the body of a prince who had lost everything, he awakened a system that granted him a legion of thousands of cultivators in the Saint Realm from the start, and thus his story began.Creating a Shura Palace that made the whole continent tremble as soon as it heard his name.Be it a Saint from a Holy Land, an Emperor from a Powerful Empire? An ancestor from a powerful family?No matter who it is, as long as they pay the corresponding price, Shura Palace can kill.

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.”

In a foreign country, a leisurely little farmer.

Beer, side dishes, beef and sheep barbecue, small pond, three or five fish and shrimp, a pot of soup.

There are hundreds of flowers in spring, the moon in autumn, cool breeze in summer, snow in winter, and a hut in the woods.

- Description from novelbuddy