Discordant Note | The Beginning After the End SI - Chapter 207: Threading Hearts

While they mine for gold, I dig graves.While they use healing ointment, I munch on graveyard grass.While they take Mana Potions, I light incense and candles.While they meditate to recover, I rest in a coffin,While they attack with magic, I retaliate by tossing paper money....Let's see how a skeleton turns the tables in an online game, stirring up chaos to become the ultimate boss!

Seventeen-year-old Hajime Nagumo is your average, everyday otaku. However, his simple life of pulling all-nighters and sleeping in school is suddenly turned upside down when he, along with the rest of his class, is summoned to a fantasy world!

They’re treated like heroes and tasked with the duty of saving the human race from utter extinction.

But what should have been any otaku’s wet dream quickly turns into Hajime’s nightmare? While the rest of his class are blessed with godlike powers, Hajime’s job, Synergist, only has a single transmutation skill. Ridiculed and bullied by his classmates for being weak, he soon finds himself in despair.

Will he be able to survive in this dangerous world of monsters and demons with only a glorified blacksmith’s level of strength?

James Woodrow has transmigrated into a strange world of magic as student in the prestigious Ainsworth Magic Academy. Oh and with him came the gigolo system. Watch how he navigates this strange world full of conspiracies while putting the system to full use by getting all the most beautiful MILFS on the campus.

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.”