Transmigrated as a Wrong Character in a Sorcerer World - Chapter 149: There is a lack of research, but it is a perfect system

Possessed an extra with a single rune.After obtaining 7 runes directly according to the original Hidden Piece…A fraudulent rune called [Rune Hunter] was created.

Back to the end of Ming Dynasty, he was reduced to a slave.

This emperor, a beggar can do it, a slave can do it, a bandit can do it, but a house slave can’t do it?

- Description from novelbuddy

Getting Reincarnated as the Biblical Devil isn't something our protagonist ever thought was possible.He was a firm believer and knew how powerful God and the Angels were, they are existence that are not to be thrived with especially God.But here he was as the Archangel Samael, the left hand of God or the poison of God casted from Heaven to hell for rebelling against his Father, God.“what is the meaning of this, is this God's doing”our protagonist wondered as he knew very well that there is no way that the Almighty would not know something about this.So he decided to wait a little while to see what would happen to him but something else happened, what he had expected did not happened, so he has to take in the fact that he is now the new Devil, the Lord of Hell, Lucifer Bloody Morningstar.check out my other works.The Omnipotent SystemMy Infinite System

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.”