Reincarnated into Two Bodies - Chapter 10: Fray

An ordinary person who has never been in contact with games travels to the world of elves. Without a prominent background, no golden fingers, and no mysterious grandfather, where should he go?

This article is very cold-blooded and the protagonist is very selfish. If you think it is poisonous weed, don’t click on it. Thank you.

- Description from novelbuddy

Babel Tower, a mysterious organization, suddenly appeared in front of the world. In the name of saving the world, they studied mutation technology and dealt with all kinds of terrifying natural disasters. They forcefully controlled Knight, Psychics, Witch and other big shots to join their organization and become operators.

“Everything is under the Savior’s control.”

“I’m the queen of the Vampire, I won’t kneel before you! Damn it! I can’t control my body!”

“Please, let me rest. I don’t want to go on another mission.”

…

Everyone believed that the mysterious leader behind the Babel Tower, the savior, was definitely the force of God.

After hearing this, I panicked.

……………………………………………………………

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“You died.”That was what the mysterious figure told him, but then he was given a second chance for the good deeds that he did in his previous life.“Super Prodigal System!”“Cultivate to immortality by wasting as much money as you can!”For the former number one prodigal of Earth, this was the perfect system!

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.”