MTL - Mr. Zhan’s Little Demon is All Grown up - Chapter 2519 good very good

Jay was merely a butcher, living in a small village on the outskirts of a magical world. When humans came of age, they would receive their class from a mana conduit, and begin their lives as adventurers.

“Status” Thought Jay, checking his class.
[Necromancer Level 1]
“...I'm a Necromancer?!” he was shocked. Looking around in fear, he was glad no one heard him.
In this world, this was a monster class - and one of the more powerful monsters at that.
Jay knew he would be hunted down and killed on sight - he was not just a threat to the authority of the nobles, but to all living things.

Jay now had only one option - to get stronger; building his necrotic powers up so that he may one day become untouchable.
Through plotting, secrecy, and sometimes by sheer carnage, he can only attempt to survive in this hostile world.

Join Jay as he struggles against all odds and misfortune, against a world that wants him dead, as he secretly rises and bends this world to his will.

#Necromancer #Video game elements #Action #Adventure #Survival #System #R18 #Weaktostrong #Undead #Magic #Chaotic-Neutral-MC #No-Harem #No-Romance
***Artwork is "Skeleton of Society" by "Samize". Can be found at deviantart.com/samize/art/Skeleton-of-Society-473383449***

Join the community and support the author:
buymeacoffee.com/MyNecromancer
patreon.com/MyNecromancerClass
ko-fi.com/aero182

“My name is Yang Jian, when you are reading this, I am already dead.”A mysterious sheepskin scroll, an eye that peers into darkness, this is the tale of a survivor

A National Treasure—a hero who rightfully deserved everyone’s respect.They were those who dedicated their bodies, minds and skills to protect the defense and honor of the nation.They were directly related to the nation’s strength.

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.”