The King of Urban Mercenaries - Chapter 1375 - 1378: The Sect’s Great Calamity

Kusumi Chiharu gets a message one day that he has been selected as a Monster Tamer, and he is prompted to select his first partner. He thinks little of the message until he receives a giant package the following day. He assumes it’s the porn books he ordered, but the huge box ends up containing the unconscious body of a near-naked girl! She’s a ghoul named Zonmi, who intends to fight beside him as his partner.

However, it turns out that other hot girls at his mostly-male high school are also magical entities, and Zonmi may not be the only one who wants to fight by his side!

Yohan wakes up ten years in the past, back when he still lived with his uncle and hadn’t yet lost his parents’ massage parlour. With a strange book filled with wellness techniques in his hands, he decides to live differently this time—more aware, more purposeful, and maybe even more fulfilled.

So, apparently I'm Albedo now...And to make things worse, I'm in the Marvel universe, which one exactly, I've got no fucking clue.Fuck man! Why do I have to be in the body of a inverted person! Do you know how attention drawing white hair and red eyes look like in the real world?! It's been like what, the 4th person who asked me if they were natural?!...I gotta dye this shit black, like my original hair was...

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.”