Toradora! - Volume 8, Chapter 3

Yun Bixue is in dire straits—

Giles transmigrated to a world where everyone practiced beast-taming, and he was adopted by the owner of a beast-taming arena from a young. However, Giles could only run errands and do basic chores since he didn’t have any talent for beast-taming.

One day, the arena owner had to go on a long trip, so he entrusted Giles with the management of the arena.

Faced with a bunch of baby beasts waiting to be fed, the inexperienced Giles could only tell them about the stories that he’d heard from his past life. [Pet Beast Guru Duck finished listening to “The Ugly Duckling”, evolved into an “Eight-winged Swan Beast”!] [Pet Beast Beetle Bug finished listening to “Godzilla”, evolved to learn “Ultra Heat Beam”!] [Pet Beast Lil Ape finished listening to “King Kong”, evolved into an “Invincible King Kong Beast”!] [Pet Beast Green Haired Dog finished listening to “Greek Mythology”, evolved into a “Cerberus”!] Even that rock pet beast in the corner.

After listening to Giles telling the story of “Journey to the West”, the rock split open and evolved into the Ancient God-tier pet beast, “Heavenly Sage Sun Wukong”!

When the arena owner returned, he was stunned, I told you to take care of the arena, and you trained them all to become Divine Beasts?!

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.”