Omega Summoner - Chapter 2313 I am a Cat III

“What’s my class?”[Beast Tamer – Class E]“..Seriously?”Lee Min-Jae was a workaholic with no social life who died slumped over his keyboard. When he opened his eyes, he was in an RPG-like world — but with the worst class imaginable: Tamer.Tamers were seen as useless. Weak. Limited to disloyal, expensive-to-keep wild monsters.But he wasn’t just any fool. He was a systems-obsessed gamer, an expert at finding exploits and shortcuts.With his cold, analytical mind, he chose to break the game’s rules — by leveraging the most reviled mechanic of all: contracts.Where others saw abomination, he saw an exploit. And he was ready to turn the worst class into something unbeatable.---------------This story have:[Adventure][Smut][MSmut] (no NTR).[Harem][System / LitRPG][Strategy] - cold planning, exploiting mechanics, creative use of abilities.[Cold and Calculating Protagonist] – no naive romance.[Worldbuildin] – rules, politics, economy.[No NTR] – the protagonist is not betrayed, no passive humiliation content.

One day, the majority of humanity had a collective thought.

‘I wish the world would just collapse.’

And then, that wish came true.

The path of cultivation from scratch.Under the disguise of being a playboy.He is actually the boss behind the largest assassin organization——Misty Rain Tower.Aiming for the world!

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.”