Strongest Swordman’s Re:START - Chapter 54: Disappointment

A person who lived the life to the maximum even being a person with paralysis, always played his favorite sport basketball, even if alone, follow the story of Jake Smith to be happy with a second chance.

Reborn in the United States in 1995, with all the web novels he has read in his head.Let's see how he uses online literature to skew America's bestseller rankings and become a popular cultural master like Stan Lee.In the 20th century, what is the largest IP in Hollywood?It's comics and web novels!Netflix? It's nothing without online literature! Disney's CEO later claims.

At the press conference, reporters bombarded Chen Xing with questions. “Can you explain how someone as young as you clinched the championship? We heard accusations from other contestants that you've been cheating? Is that true?”Chen Xing shoved the microphone that was pushed up to his nose away, his face filled with annoyance, “I want to state again very seriously that I haven't cheated!”As his words ended, Chen Xing waved his hand and summoned a behemoth that blotted out the sky, then jumped onto its back. “Damn it, I can't stand this anymore. Just because I raised them well, they say I cheated? My crocodile accidentally ate a demon, and that's cheating?”

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.”