Solo Cultivation in The Apocalypse - Chapter 73 Aerophobia.

Enzo ventured into the primitive era, chosen as a priest by the Crimson Star tribe and emerging as the leader, awakening numerous extraordinary abilities in the process.In order to enhance their way of life, extensive reforms became necessary.Mystical sorcery and modern technology advanced hand in hand.While other tribes still dwelled in caves, the Crimson Star tribe had already gained prominence, constructing sturdy brick houses.While other tribes were still using primitive wooden spears and stones, the Crimson Star tribe had forged ahead with iron tools.In the midst of other tribes worrying about food scarcity, the Crimson Star tribe was reaping bountiful harvests of various grains.Furthermore, they possessed an unparalleled army of totem warriors.In response, Enzo, embraced by the luscious temptress and leading the enigmatic cat maiden, earnestly expressed, “I truly only sought to improve our way of life. How did I inadvertently elevate the tribe into a divine realm?”

This is the story where Urahara Kisuke died after Nel failed to save him inside Askin’s Gift Ball Delux and reincarnated in the world of DxD.

I am not sure if I can capture Urahara’s character properly so I apologize in advance if you are not satisfied.

Also, English is not my native language.

I don’t own any of the characters from the canon.

Author : Kinugasa ShougoIllustrator : TomoseshunsakuAs Ayanokouji and his classmates begin their second year at the Advanced Nurturing High School, they're greeted by a fresh gauntlet of exams and a fresh batch of rather unique first-year students. They'll have to get to know each other quickly, because the first special exam pairs the first-years with the second-years on a written test--with only the second-years facing expulsion if their team performs poorly! Worse yet? It seems one of the new first-years is also from the White Room. Can Ayanokouji avoid expulsion while sussing out the identity of this hidden foe?

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.”