MTL - One Useless Rebirth - Chapter 85 Little assistant

One of the four greatest braggarts in the web novel circle, Zhang Xuan, has entered the 【Source World】, a higher dimensional plane even above the Empyrean. With the complete version of the Library of Heaven’s Path that encompasses the capacities of the 【Heavens’ Imperfections】, 【Heavens’ Order】, and 【Heavens’ Nature】, he embarks on an adventure — showcasing his might — across the world! Searching for Fate, Resigning Oneself to Fate, Knowing One’s Fate, Commanding Fate... While all of you are still cultivating your fate, seeking fate, or borrowing fate, I, Zhang Xuan, already possess the ’Eternal Fate of the Heavens’!

After being awakened from their slumber, billions of people found themselves dispersed in various sealed crypts. Surrounded by earth, they each had only a shovel.

A modern Japanese man reincarnated into a game as Welner von Zeavert. Though he reincarnated as a noble’s son, he is neither the main character nor the hero of this world. He become someone who didn’t even appear in the game.Plus, with only [Spearmanship] as his skill, he can’t even join the hero party to clear main story.His small advantages are the fact that he became the hero’s friend and his father’s rather high status. He’s nothing but a supporting character of the story.He noted the game story that he knew from his past life, used it, along with his authority and influence as a noble, to survive from demon king army.But, without realizing it, the knowledge from his past life and his memories of the game story affected the world. He saved people that should have died and took care of events that didn’t appear in the game.With that, he carved history of this worldThis is not a story about the hero. This is a story about struggle and effort of a young noble.

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.”