Death March kara Hajimaru Isekai Kyusoukyoku (WN) - Chapter 523 - 17-36. Offenses and Defenses at Purple Towers (3)

We’ve come to a world where the roles of men and women have been reversed. So, of course, women will rush to us. “You don’t have to bring water.” “Oh, okay…” …I guess I’ll just have to live the way I always have.

Humbra bleeds, devastated by an unrelenting race for survival against the Leirions—powerful monsters intoxicated by their bloodlust. Amidst this chaos, a young orphan, haunted by his brutal past, discovers he is the catalyst to a greater future—a future far darker than he could ever imagine.This is Leonard, a boy whose destiny entwines with ancient secrets, betrayals beyond reckoning, and a world-shattering rage.Humanity already struggles on the edge of the abyss. The light of hope has long been extinguished, ushering in the darkness and heralding echoes of lament... But from this despair, a new hope flickers: the Neumonds, wielders of powers that transcend life and death. Are they saviors... or harbingers of a final, devastating curse?Will Leonard save them all... or will his desire for vengeance end in a valiant death?

The Demon King dies and the entire Demon Realm perishes in the prologue of “The Demon King is Dead,” and I have become the Demon Prince of that novel.

… Somebody save me.

……………………………………………………………

Dear readers! Without any ads, maybe you will prefer .

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.”