MTL - Our Mommy is the Best Investigator! - Chapter 737 good tea

When people die, where do they end up to?I don't know about anyone else, but when I died, I arrived at the strangest Heaven of all times. And I got a chance to reincarnate with all of my memories!Jackpot!If you look away from the fact I had to reincarnate as a damn monster which is the lowest of all the bottom feeders? And I had to represent one of the worst goddesses ever!?And to make things worse, my “birthplace” was a freaking Dungeon! And not your everyday Dungeon with level 1 slimes and goblins, but a freaking Dungeon-turned-world-destroying-facility!Still, you gotta work with what you have. So see me how I survive in this crazy new world!!...But I promise I won't be mad if the bosses get debuffed. No? Damn...

The protagonist fell asleep while playing an online game. However, he awoke in a strange world with his game character’s appearance. In a state of shock, he noticed that he was equipped with nothing but his strongest weapon and armor. To make matters worse, our hero’s appearance was changed by the special avatar skin『Skeleton』when he entered this new world. The protagonist wanted to live without drawing attention, but he got acquainted with the dark elf Ariana and received her request.

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.”