Rise of the White Dragon - Chapter 199: Bandits Are Victims of Society

Having reincarnated into a different world, Murong Lin found himself utterly bewildered.The golden finger system informed him that he needed to eliminate the protagonist—wait, he wasn’t the protagonist?Innocently, Murong Lin turned his gaze towards the designated heroes, a butcher’s knife clutched in his hand. Regretfully, he realized he had no alternative but to end their lives if he wished to survive.Hold on, this pig was a protagonist too? And that tree?Without any choice, Murong Lin found himself forced down the path of bloodshed.

True evil needs no reason to exist.

“All living creatures must die, but I wont. ”

Once known as the most talented and knowledgeable scholar/philosopher across three continents, he basked in the praise and reverence of those around him. However, tragedy struck one fateful night when he bore witness to the cold-blooded murder of his entire family. Driven to madness, he embarked upon the path of power, the path of negative energy, and thus, The Great Demon, Badur, was born.

In a single day, a mountain of corpses were stacked, many of which fell to his blade. However, during his final pursuit of revenge, he met his untimely demise. His soul was extracted and cast into the void, where it would endure eternal suffering.

However, his jouney would not end here……

“What do you desire?”

A grotesque creature floating in the void asked while staring at the bruised and beaten soul of a young man.

[Ding!! Host has received Void grade Treasure]

[Ding!! Goal has been set : Attain True immortality]

A new lease at life is presented

A deal with a Demon filled with resentment

A new journey, a new Dawn

With that the great Demon, Badur is reborn

ps: the book won't progress the way other novels have been progressing. if you don't like a unique development then maybe this isn't the book for you.

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.”