Pocket Hunting Dimension (WN) - Chapter 1307: Eternal Barren Metal

He Yuan had accidentally caused his own death. He had no idea he was even dead until he suddenly woke up on the hard floor of an empty room.

As he tried to get his bearings right, a strange guy suddenly popped out of thin air and he was offered a job.

The job offer granted him eternal life with the alternative being reincarnation. Most would hastily choose to be reincarnated so they can start a new life but not He Yuan.

He was skeptical, why would anyone want reincarnation? Once you reincarnated 'you' cease to exist. He didn't care about what people said about starting afresh, gaining new memories and all that.

All he knew was that once a person reincarnated, they get thrown into a different environment, different family, meet new people and in short became a different person entirely.

What scared He Yuan the most was losing his own thoughts and hence, awareness of his current self and so, he chose to accept the job.

What did the job entail? He carried out tasks given to him by people who were called 'leasers.' They were called this because they leased out their bodies to 'taskers' for a period of time to help set their crooked lives straight.

What the leasers didn't know was that the taskers got into realms and helped them so they( taskers) could focus on their own main tasks which was world/realm balance.

These realms had 'special ones' who siphoned the luck out of it. Luck was the binding force of these realms so without it, the realms would begin to break apart and deteriorate into unlivable hells.

So in essence, leasers gave put their bodies and 'payment' in the form of soul energy, taskers helped out the leasers while balancing the realms and the realms become stable once more.

Pretty straightforward right? Yes.

But can someone tell He Yuan why these world was so full of hypocrites, Mary sue and Gary stu characters who thought it was excusable to do horrible things just because they were in love?

He Yuan grit his teeth. If you want to be in love, then be in love, was there any need to use others as stepping stones?!

He rolled up his sleeves and bounced forward. Just you wait as I teach you all a valuable lesson!

A war veteran and an anime fan as well, he got into anime by watching it with his grandson after his retirement, his grandson loved pokemon and so did he also came to like this world of pokemon where people didn't kill each other and people used to have fun with there pokemon, after watching Pokemon with his grandson and playing with him all day he got back his childhood which he could never experience due to the cruel war, and as of now our MC has turned 82 years old he was very satisfied with his life with no regrets and waiting for death to take him away but will death be is end or will it start a new beginning, a new legend.

He was not a human since no human is aware of himself even before his birth.

He has no blood and no heart, but emotions?

He does have feelings, but can he express them?

Why was he called a Devil’s Spawn at his birth?

Why did they cut away his arms and a leg?

Why did no one ever visit him for years?

And why does this emptiness... feels so... just so familiar?

Why does the Void feel so... full?

Who is he? Or rather... What is he?

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.”