Bloodhound's Regression Instinct - Chapter 204

Rowan was just a broke college dropout—until he was summoned to another world.Dragged into the war-torn realm of Laronia, Rowan stands beside four other chosen heroes, each blessed by prophecy… except him.While the others awaken to legendary powers and divine roles, Rowan receives a blank grimoire. No magic. No title. No future.Cast aside and marked a failure, he prepares for death—until the silence inside his grimoire begins to speak.The gods made a mistake. And this world is not ready for what lies beneath the Wordless Mage.

After dying in his previous life, Kaito Nakamura finds himself in a strange new world, free from the weight of past regrets. Surrounded by unfamiliar faces, he begins to carve out a new life, one filled with hope and the chance for personal growth. But as time passes, Kaito soon discovers that this world holds far more challenges than he ever imagined—challenges that test his resolve, his desires, and his understanding of what it means to truly live.In a world where loss is inevitable, Kaito is forced to confront the darkness that lingers within him and the painful sacrifices that come with seeking redemption. Will he be able to rise above the tragedies that define his existence, or will he become a victim of his own unresolved past?MC name: Kaito Nakamura. Age: 17.You can also join my discord, patreon or follow me on tiktok for more content, through my link tree: https://linktr.ee/Mr_MellmanThis story is authored by Mellman. I also publish under the names Mellmann and Mellman Nordberg.

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.”