The Extra's Harem In Dead End Game - Chapter 82: A Path to the Underground [3]

Tang Sect, the most famous martial arts sect of all. By stealing its most secret teachings to fulfill his dreams, Tang San committed an unforgivable crime. With his ambition attained, he hands his legacy to the sect and throws himself from the fearsome “Hell’s Peak.”

But he could have never imagined that this would reincarnate him in another world, one without magic, martial arts, and grudges. A land where only the mystical souls of battle lay.

The continent of Douluo.

How will Tang San survive in this unknown environment? With a new road to follow, a new legend begins…

- Description from Novelupdates

“My name is Zeon, and my weapon is the entire desert.”

The Earth underwent terraforming. As a result, the oceans evaporated, and the land transformed into sand.

On the desertified Earth, Zeon became the sole Sand Mage.

The world named him the Sand Ghost.

Mo Zhu’s mother remarried after her father went missing, and she had lived in the countryside with her elderly grandmother ever since. The girl who had no parents wanted to protect herself. Therefore, to avoid getting bullied, she had turned wild since she was a child—she played truant, fought, and drank. There was nothing she did not know how to do. She was a problematic student in the eyes of her teachers, a big sister in the eyes of her classmates, and a hooligan in the eyes of her acquaintances.

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.”