The Divine Doctor and Stay-at-home Dad - Chapter 895 - Wine and Dine

Noan transmigrated to a world that blends advanced technology and magic, with countless gates leading to other strange worlds.In that world, he took over the body of a young man of the same name who had just died.He realised that in this world, he was one of the 0.1% of the population who had the ability to become a landlord and had the right to go to mysterious lands to build territories.However, he was only a Rank F lord, the lowest and weakest rank in the landlord rankings.Besides, his family was like blood-sucking demons. Not only did he wear out his labour, but his younger brother was also jealous of him becoming a landlord, so he hired thugs to beat him to death.Fortunately, the 'old Noan' died, giving the 'new Noan' a body to live again.This Noan was not a coward; he was not weak like the 'old Noan'.And of course, the goddess of luck smiled upon him. Although he is only a Rank F Landlord, who can only summon useless Skeletons, he possesses the only Rank SSS talent in the world - Almighty Fusion.He can fuse ordinary skeletons and transform them into the King of the Undead, the lord of hell.He can help a weak succubus become the almighty fallen angel.He can turn a small lizard into the King of Dragons, the nightmare of all creatures.Besides, Noan also begins to lift the curtain that has hidden the truth about the new lands.

Noah Brown had a gift for fighting. Unfortunately punching things didn't pay the bills, at least until he died and an Eldritch god found his soul. The encounter led him to a new world, summoned by bloody cultists, with nothing but the shirt on his back, and a strange item in his system menu.

[???] : A source of infinite potential.

Perhaps he'd finally get to put his gifts to good use.

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.”