Astral Apostle - Chapter 10: Mutant Hunter (1)

To exact revenge on a scumbag, she agrees to a hidden marriage with him for a year.

On their first encounter, she is rescued by him. On the second encounter, he helps her out of a conundrum. On the third encounter, they rush to get married.

He abducts her home and makes her his wife, ‘Mrs. Lucas’, one who is envied throughout the city. Rumor has it that the the cold and aloof Master Lucas dotes on her. He hugs, loves, pampers and holds her in such high esteem.

However, one day, the man’s domineering and intense love becomes too much for her. She leaves him with divorce papers and climbs over the compound wall to make her escape. Alas, things doesn’t happen the way she had planned. With her having one leg over the wall, he pulls her by her toes and stops her attempt. She falls into his arms. He places a hand over her tummy and asks in a hoarse voice, “Woman, where are you going with my son?”

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Hiro transmigrates and finds himself in the body of an orphan that’s about to be evicted from his orphanage. It wasn’t anything personal, but the orphanage’s policy doesn’t accommodate children who have reached the age of 16.From the gates of that humble establishment, Hiro slowly explores the facets of this world that was both familiar and unfamiliar due to its uncanny resemblance to his previous world—Earth.With his Daily Life RPG System urging him to excel in every aspect of his daily life, Hiro marks his presence in both the mundane and mystical circles of this new 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.”