First Assistant's Petite Wife Has Space - Chapter 143 - 143 Helping out Again

Miracles don’t come walking your way by themselves.

Reborn in the world of One Piece, I, Karl, was granted a unique “Gacha” System. Every five years, I get to smash a golden egg and pull a legendary prize.At age 5, I pulled the [Infinitely Evolving Monster Body]. As long as I keep eating, I keep getting stronger. The seas would soon fear another monster like Big Mom.At age 10, I pulled the [Sealed Mystical Spear]. A weapon capable of converting my stamina into a beam of pure light, capable of annihilating anything in its path.At age 15, I pulled my greatest prize yet. A card from another world... the legendary [Blue-Eyes White Dragon]!At age 20... the world was no longer ready for what I would become.My legend begins in the East Blue, but my destination is the heavens. They call me a pirate, a monster, a king.But my true title is... The Dragon Knight.

Being re-birthed as a cell, Han Dong utilized the power of the Prison code and came into a parallel world where the Ancient Ones have awakened.

A steam powered civilization, horrifying subspaces, the Ancient King of the Eternal Night and strange monsters lurking outside the city.

The door of Destiny has been opened – Crusaders, Library, Control, Machinery and Mysticism would become the new growth system for human development.

The hymn of Humanity is the song of courage! The brave and dauntless Knights Regiments, riding into the world ruled by the Ancient King to seize back the freedom that belongs to mankind.

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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.”