I Became A Thief Who Steals Overpowered Skills - Chapter 282

“It’s true… So why does no one believe me?”Sometimes, I play small pranks, but they’re really just small ones.I’m not the mastermind at all.

Qin Xiaoguo was a successful chef working in the future era. A turn of fate brought her to the past, into a time of famine and uncertainty. Waking up one day, Qin Xiaoguo found herself face to face with a boy who acknowledged her as his mother.Having transmigrated from the year 3024 to 42 BC, Qin Xiaoguo had traveled across a three-millennium time leap to the past. She was transported to a destitute place, and also became mother to a hungry, skinny boy at the same time.Her only comfort to her new-found circumstances was a spatial ring that allowed her to transmigrate—giving her free access to food and other belongings from a different era.After years of raising her son singlehandedly, Qin Xiaoguo had a surprise visitor at her door. It was a man claiming to be her husband, requesting to stay the night. Out of confusion and pity, Qin Xiaoguo let the self-proclaimed father of her child into the house.

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.”