Descending On France 1780 - Chapter 11 - 008 What, there are even double mission rewards?

Admist the turmoil of a blood-soaked battlefield, General Hua Ren was perched on a horse, his once-pristine uniform now a canvas of rebel bloodstains. Lifeless bodies, a macabre mosaic of soldiers and rebels, lay strewn across the ground—some severed, others trampled beneath the hooves of horses.In the distant backdrop, a bomb erupted, rattling the battlefield, and in that fleeting moment, the General detected the scent.His Alpha.His heart raced as his gaze locked onto the most frigid, intimidating eyes he had ever encountered, and a sinking feeling gripped his stomach.Sheng Fei, leader of the rebellion, stood tall amidst the chaos, a sinister smirk playing on his lips. In a chilling display of power, Sheng Fei swiftly ended the life of a soldier, his eyes never leaving Hua Ren.The stark reality unfolded before Hua Ren, solidifying the bitter truth that their connection was entwined in the threads of enmity.He could never be the Omega to a Rebel AlphaOr so he thought.

One-eyed Wolf Lecan is a skilled adventurer who has conquered many dungeons all over the world. He had been going solo for a long time, but in the last three years, he’s had a partner. That partner jumps into the black hole together with Lecan, and both go their separate ways as they fall into another world. Dungeons and magical beasts also exist in that world. After learning the native language, Lecan goes on a journey. Meeting a good teacher, Lecan studies medicine making and magic under that teacher, and begins his dungeon explorations for real.

After seeking pleasure in the nightclub and a night of romance, he discovered there’s a seed in his stomach;

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.”