Dragon Ball Roshi - Chapter 110 - : Fossil

Adrien’s tale is a thunderous symphony of vengeance, mystery, and ascension. Awakened with no memory but wielding a shadow-forged blade, he traverses a fractured world where gods rule through fear and silence. His forgotten blood burns with the legacy of the Godslayers—beings once feared even by the divine. As he hunts corrupted gods and unearths shards of unimaginable power, Adrien evolves from a wandering enigma to a force capable of defying fate itself. Twisting through betrayal, hidden empires, and awakening legends, his journey is not just one of survival, but of reclaiming divinity to break the sky itself.

“I'm a fox girl, Master!”

Leveling up is not tedious if you have adorable girls by your side!

Leon started his second life with a challenging and callous test to receive a system, only to begin his first steps in another world with an adorable fox girl by his side.

How would these two start their journey, and who else will join them? What will Leon achieve in a different world? He may find more than just new happiness.

We’ve come to a world where the roles of men and women have been reversed. So, of course, women will rush to us. “You don’t have to bring water.” “Oh, okay…” …I guess I’ll just have to live the way I always have.

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.”