Indestructible Body Of Vajra Of The Village Leader - Chapter 900 - 717: Some People Possess Peerless Swordsmanship, Yet Can Never Become Sword Gods

I lived for you in the last lifetime, everything I did was for you, yet you wanted me to die; so, this time, life is mine to live! This world lied to me, betrayed me, and humiliated me, and I am back to change everything!

- Description from Novelupdates

Ren has never known kindness. He grew up alone in the slums, learning to survive by staying out of sight and trusting no one. One night, he stumbles into a strange tunnel and finds a hidden shrine forgotten by time.There, he sees a black cat with golden eyes and hears a voice inside his head.The shrine is more than it seems. So is the cat.As Ren is pulled into something ancient and mysterious, he must decide if he's willing to take a different step in life or keep running from the world that hurt him.Because the city doesn't care if he lives or dies, but something in the dark might.(No system, no isekai, no reincarnation, no regression, no harem. The story focuses on mystery and character development.)

It is said that humans only reveal 5% of their DNA. The person you perceive yourself to be and the person others judge you for is determined by this 5%. No one can know what is in the hidden 95%.

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.”