MTL - There Will Always Be Protagonists With Delusions of Starting a Harem - Chapter 96 Fortune list no.1

Reborn into a fantasy world of magic and aura, Rowan is the second son of a ranch family living boringly in a backwater village, with no magic and no inheritance.To avoid rotting away in the countryside, he becomes a mercenary instead. Better to die fighting than waste away.After his first kill, the Black Dream awakens: a power that lets him plunder abilities from everything he defeats.But it's more than that. When he fights alongside others, their techniques become his: a master archer's deadly precision, a hunter's supernatural tracking, an assassin's shadow-step…Every ally becomes his arsenal.Ascension awaits! From the lowly dirt to the throne of the gods.

Life is unpredictable. Her husband loved her stepsister, deposed her as Empress and even forced her son to death. In that Cold Palace, she was forced to drink poisonous wine. So in the next lifetime, she made a promise to never do good deeds and help others, to never step into the palace and to never become the Empress!

After dying as a college student, Kain wakes up in a magical world where people form bonds with spiritual creatures to fight alongside them. Determined to rise to the top, he relies on a System and loyal companions.Everything seems to align with his ambitions—except the spiritual creatures he can contract seem to be remarkably…strange

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.”