I Keep Witches While Others Keep Dragons - 2 Chapter 2

I was the Pope.I had ten years to save the world from destruction.I came close to death many times, saved the world, and finally returned to Earth…[Warning! If you do not reach the target number of believers within 90 days, your system will be reset!]“…Excuse me?”“What?”“…I’ve come to tell you about the good news of our Lord.”

I was transmigrated into a webtoon based on an alternate history of a shitty empire.‘I will overthrow this country with my own hands.’And the answer I arrived at upon experiencing it was ‘Coup D’état’.

This story revolves around a boy who was sent to a dark, mysterious parallel world in the body of his beautiful senior sister known as Lily. The lone girl ran into the night parade of a hundred ghosts the very day she arrived; seeking survival amongst the warrior’s dispute in a chaotic world, and forging her own demon sword! This is an unimaginable other world adventure!

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.”