The Artist Who Paints Dungeon - Chapter 18

Found a suitable body named Bai Xiao. Reincarnating into the World of Elementalists.

“Mission: Overpopulation of carnivorous fish in the lagoon.

Please kill 666 carnivorous fish in order to prevent the destruction of the lagoon’s ecosystem.

Reward: 20 Balance Points.”

“Mission: Forest fire.

Extinguish the fire.

Reward: 200 Balance Points.”

- Description from Novelupdates

A young man who had longed for stories of good and evil since childhood lost his life in a tragic accident and was reincarnated as a boy named Chrono Mak in another world.

He learned that in this other world, there is magic and witchcraft, and depending on how you train them, you can become as strong as you want to be, so he decided to become the strongest demon king in order to recreate the story of justice and evil he once dreamed of.

The once greatest Saint underneath the heavens has been reborn after one hundred years. He cultivates with mighty skills, and he fights to once again reach the top of the world!

Don’t compete with me when it comes to concocting pills, 100% effectiveness means nothing to me.

Don’t compete with me when it comes to cultivation speed, I won’t be responsible when you die from embarrassment.

Don’t compete with me when it comes to experience, as I’m an ancient ancestor.

The existence of Jiang Chen is destined to ridicule thousands of geniuses……

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”