Wasteland Border Inspector - Chapter 87 - 67: Newcomers, Old Hands, War of Words and Wit!

Setsuna Shū is a magical girl with temporal magic that allows her to go back to the past whenever she performs a certain action. She works as a magical girl, hunting monsters and helping people… or at least, that’s what she lets everyone believe. In truth, she made a contract with a demon so she could return to the past and rewrite the future.Her real reason for turning back time is to save her “sister.” As a child, she had no parents, relatives, or friends. When she was finally adopted, her sister became her entire world — and for her sake, Setsuna wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice the world itself. She gave up her original gender, her past “existence,” and even parts of her freedom in a demonic contract, all for the sake of saving her sister and taking revenge on the monsters that hurt her.But… is that really all there is to it? Or is Setsuna, in the end, partially responsible for everything that happened?

Pei Jin is a black bellied prince. To outsiders he is a kind gentleman and always calm.

Kivas Chariot is struck by the sun—an event that corrupts her soul beyond repair.In the blink of an eye, she's transported into the midst of a cosmic ritual, performed by three eldritch beings beyond comprehension.Overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of their presence, her fractured soul erupts in a desperate tantrum, shattering the terrifying rite.Yet beneath their monstrous forms, one of the entities reaches out to her gently—soul to soul—and asks a simple, warm, and comprehensible question.“What is it you truly desire?”Tears welling, Kivas whispers from the depths of her being.“I want to be loved!”The entity grants her wish.But not directly.Now, somehow awakened in a strange new world, Kivas discovers something bizarre—there are stats, HP, MP... even classes and skills.In a world where time matter less and power are more rampant, Kivas attempts to strive and live her brand new life.

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.”