Before I Died, I Forcibly Kissed The Heroine - Chapter 293: My Enchanting Beauty Has the Graceful Figure of a Goddess!

The protagonist, Punk, is a cautious, cold-blooded, and ruthless Mage.

His goal is always his top priority, over feelings or morality. When unnecessary, he doesn’t like to act like pigs to eat tigers; there are almost no life and death struggles, sometimes risky but steady progress. No strong enemy everywhere, Instead, Punk is always a strong enemy of others.

And he has a very keen interest in the secrets and teachings of the Netheril civilization.

A slime randomly falls into existence. Sapient and born with the ability to recreate parts of the things it preys upon, the highly confused drop of primordial soup decides that the only real thing it can do is become the being at the top of the food chain. A task of longevity in the leaves of the Omniverse.

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.”

In a realm where even the faintest shadows whisper untold tales, I came to realize that the forgotten often hold the most powerful narratives.As an avid admirer of the world's most beloved series, I never imagined that one night's rest would pull me into its very fabric.“Why on earth am I stuck in this world? And why, of all people, am I him?”I had become Arthur Nightingale—Class A’s most unremarkable student. A magic swordsman barely worthy of mention, ranked 8th among the first-years. A mere footnote in the grand story.Still, with this body’s abilities and my own insider knowledge, I figured I could carve out a peaceful life. Or so I believed.“This was the only way,” the voice repeated, resolute. “The only way to stop her.”Little did I know how truly unique Arthur Nightingale was—or the path this journey would force me to take...