Returnee’s Life Report - Chapter 57

The world is filled with talented people. But, there are many who never possessed that talent. They work hard, but hard work often doesn't give them a good result.

Fu Chen was one of those. He was a mortal, without any talent for cultivation. But, with the help of an strange encounter, he inherited the Strongest Offline Cultivation.

Join Fu Chen's journey where he uses his system, not to be strong but to gain talent. Because he knows the power doesn't come without the sacrifice, so he isn't willing to use his system to gain strength.

Rather, it opened a path for him. A path where he encounters opportunities which he couldn't even dream off before.

Traveling in this path, he finally gets a chance to accomplish his dream but accomplishing his dream was just a part of a bigger goal. It was the mystery behind his system.

Where did it come from? Was he alone? Are there other people with such systems? All of these questions began to pop up in his head and he knows he must find the answers.

Carlos was an ordinary software engineer on Earth, up until he died and found himself in a fantasy world of dungeons, magic, and adventure. This new world offers many fascinating possibilities, but it's unfortunate that the skills he spent much of his life developing will be useless because they don't have computers.Wait, why does this spell incantation read like a computer program's source code? Magic is programming?Updates weekly on Tuesday.

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.”