Max-Level Metaphysician: A Debt Repayment Journey - Chapter 866: Nothing Will Go Wrong, Right?

[From the Author of Author's POV...]

Emotions are like a drug to us.

The more we experience them, the more we become addicted.

The hardest part is not letting them consume us.

But it's already too late for me.

I've already been swallowed whole.

***

I had no knowledge of the game.

I was meant to have died.

And yet, I found myself in this situation.

A game I had never played before. A character I was unfamiliar with, and... A world that seemed to want to swallow me whole with every move I made.

What the hell is going on?

...and who am I?

……………………………………………………………

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An absurd death at the peak of his career drags Dravin to a parallel world, where he is transmigrated into the body of a man with the same name and face as his own.He used to read webnovels about dragon reincarnation. So he never expects that in this new world, all he has to do is just be himself.Sounds like a dream, right? A second chance at life just for being yourself.But no, not quite. He has to cook delicious meals and serve them to humans possessed by demons.On top of that, Dravin must raise the Pleasure Index of a new world isolated from entertainment so they can be immune to demon attacks.Cooking is his passion, being a chef influencer is his job.Now, hunting demons would be his nightmare come true, or... could it be a wonderful dream, too?***[Chef, please unlock the secret recipe for a broken heart from a cheating partner]“Huh, it seems like curry noodles? Wait... what is this serenity capsule ingredient?”[That's from the tears of Asmodeus, the demon of lust and anger.]“What? How to get that?”[By not having lustful thoughts for 33 days.]“...”

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.”