Enlightenment: Attaining the Dao at Age 8 - Chapter 85 - 78: Ten Thousand Buddha Temple

Strength: 1Agility: 1Stamina: 1Magic Power: 20Luck: 1All my stats are dumped into Magic Power.I can only use one spell.There’s no character as broken as this, and yet, that’s me.And somehow, I got mistaken for a once-in-a-lifetime genius.

The story is about a man who’s opposed to the now-common practice of implanting false memories, but is one day given memories of a fictional childhood friend. This fabricated happiness torments him, but then, to his surprise, he meets her – a girl who shouldn’t exist.

[December/January WPC Entry, support it by adding it to your library or giving powerstones]

Kaine didn't have the best life on earth: no friends, no family, no lover.

The only thing that he liked was the novel he read daily, “Descent of the Heavenly Demon”.

But what was Kaine's reaction when an astral entity told him that he died in his sleep and that he would be reincarnated somewhere with a system.

As you guessed it, he is now in the world of the novel he read with all the information he needs to live a good life.

But...

[Anger issues detected, rewarding accordingly]

“What do you mean anger issues?”

[Hatred System activated.]

……………………………………………………………

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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.”