MTL - Tokyo Literature and Art Times - Chapter 508 I lost my bet, what should I do?

The horror game anchor Xiao Tangqiu crossed into a horror game.

Enemy of the world, cursed by all, Kim Sungchul goes on a quest to prevent the ‘prophecy of the end’ from coming to pass.

But no matter how much he raised his strength, there were still some things he could not achieve with physical strength alone.

Resolving to obtain the power of magic, he goes into hiding to learn magic from his most hated of enemies, The Mages.

Frank, a mercenary known for his cold ruthlessness, decides it’s time to leave the bloody world of the underworld behind. But the underworld has no plans of letting him go. Relentless enemies from his violent past keep hunting him, and eventually, they succeed—Frank is killed.But fate has other plans. Instead of staying dead, he is mysteriously reincarnated into the body of a cop in a world filled with crime, corruption, and dark secrets. With the help of a strange, all-knowing system, Frank is given the chance to live again—this time, to prevent crime before it happens.

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.”