The Hunter’s Lucky Little Lady - Chapter 118

Shen Sui has traveled to an era of Duel Cards, obtaining cards used for dueling from the Otherworld by directing Soul Card Followers to act.However, Shen Sui feels that his Soul Card, a girl named Alice, has some issues.[Alice is exploring the War God Temple.][Alice finds it boring and uses arson on the Temple.][Ding! You have obtained the Spell Card: Contempt][Alice finds the statue indecent.][Alice uses a shattering strike targeting the lower part of the statue.][Ding! You have obtained the Spell Card: Desecration][The War God Balgas awakens from slumber, extremely angry. Alice's life is in imminent danger.][Alice sends out a plea for help.][Help! Help! Help! Help! Help!]What are you doing again, Al-ice!

Our straight (?) bottom woke up ten years into the future and found himself on the bed of his childhood friend… At the start, the bottom was shocked to his very bones, but he soon quickly accepted this premise and found the whole situation to be rather amusing. Precisely then, the bottom once again went back to his timeline — back to when he and the top were just platonic childhood friends.

Landmines include but are not limited to: Sweet & naive bottom, a president story, logic is dead, slow-progressing romance, the protagonist’s name has too many character strokes, the names are hard to pronounce, too many gay characters…

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.”

It was in the year 2800 of the Midgard calendar. Back then, there was a Overlord who once reigned supreme and had reached the very brink of subduing the world.