Bound To The Dead: The Deceptive Class-E Farmer - Chapter 27: Just Stay With Me

The Supernatural era descended, the rules changed, mystery arrived, and the world altered. Countless ruins of civilization emerged, and an abundance of Heavenly Materials and Earthly Treasures lay at everyone’s fingertips. Radical faction, “This is the best of times, entering a new world, excavating relics, mass evolution!” Conservative, “This is the worst of times, with countless monsters outside, once you leave the Safe Zone, extinction awaits humanity!” … Meanwhile, at a remote ruin, Lu Yuan successfully discovered new treasures and sought after the mysterious wealth, desperately trying to contact his fellow Earthlings. “Found a communicator, can it get through?” “Hey, humans—I’m almost becoming a god, and you’re still hiding in the Safe Zone?”

On this land of real souls, with millions of different martial art institutions, there’re so many strong fighters just like the trees in the forests.

He was persuaded into playing the VRMMO 「Trailblazer」 or TB for short by his cheerful childhood friend Miyu.

But Wataru faced Miyu, who was full of motivation and said this.

「Then, I’ll be the rearguard. Shinto priest? I’ll take this one」

「What!? You are not going to fight next to me!? And you call yourself a man!?」

For some time she would become one of the top players and start getting called Hero.

So Wataru had to deal with being an extra.

But, during a certain PvP event, a strange nickname was attached to Wataru.

That, he was actually the 「Hero’s true self」.

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.”