MTL - My Artist Is Reborn - Chapter 124 124th

I want an S-Rank skill too! I want it so badly, I could die for it!

As a promise, he went out into the world as an assassin. 3 years later, after becoming the Supreme Assassin, he gave up on everything he had and returned to the ranks of ordinary people. But one day, Kismet, a mystical game created by the National Research and Development had appeared.

Enigmatic hands, spectral frame, and one cunning strike just like the swing of the Grim Reaper. The Supreme Assassin takes on the mystical world, and how his legendary tales sets off, progressively ascending the altar to becoming the best.

- Description from Novelupdates

A legendary powerhouse of his generation, tired of the bustle of the peak, returned to the ordinary city and started a new life as an ordinary teacher. He wrote the legend in the city.

Magnificent mountains and rivers, the rising powerful ones. Some ancient martial art masters stood at the peak, becoming legendary. Some financial crocodiles rose up in the minuscule places, laughing arrogantly.

However, watching the school beauties was better than fighting and killing; educating was better than fighting for fame.

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”