MTL - Dominating Sword Immortal - Chapter 72 Three punches

Nagasawa crossed to Naruto Universe and was bound to Konohagakure.If Konoha is severely damaged and destroyed, Nagasawa’s lifespan will be reduced.He panicked at the thought of the upcoming Nine-Tailed Demon Fox's attack , and the thought of Konoha getting destroyed left him in despair.Fortunately, while bound to Konoha, he can obtain templates of powerful characters.At the beginning, He got the Whitebeard template! Since it's the Whitebeard from the Summit War of Marineford, he can use Tremor-Tremor Fruit's ability and Haki.Facing the Tailed Beast Ball, which terrorized Konoha Shinobi, Nagasawa leaped and shattered the Tailed Beast Ball with one punch!

When I transmigrated, the protagonist was already dead.Now, I have to protect the world after the bad ending.So first things first, I became the enemy of the main heroine, who was on the brink of ending her life.“I finally understand what all those things you said really meant.”“I’m like this because of you, junior. Take responsibility.”“I can only sleep when I’m next to you.”…But for some reason, everyone is starting to act a little strange.

In a survival game to select new Gods, mankind is summoned to another world filled with different races.

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.”