Too Bad I Take Things Seriously - Chapter 2 I Choose to be Serious

Ye Qiu transmigrated to a world of barren wastelands. He obtained the 10,000 Fold Return System.

Bai Li, an Agricultural Deity from the immortal world, traveled to the Interstellar era where land is scarce and his farming soul is burning. In a world full of were-people who can turn into many different types of animals, he is a rare human who does not have an animal form.

He entered the ‘Virtual Reality Game Design Competition’ and created the farming game ‘Carefree Farmstead’, leading Interstellar people to farm and explore in the game so that they can gradually understand the charm of farming. The game would lead Interstellar People to grow and explore in the game, and let them gradually realize the charm of farming. Farming, food, infrastructure, life ….

Inadvertently, the interstellar people’s real life takes on a new twist.

- Description from Novelupdates

Branded as the last remnants of evil.Once known as Cero Restes, now living under the name Gabby Magus walked into villain’s path. He swore to hunt every hero’s affiliated with the Dukedom of South in the kingdom of La Magia.Through a web of lies, manipulation, and ruthless strategy, he will rise—not as a savior, but as the villain hidden within the hero’s party.

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.”