I Might As Well Quit This Lousy Wizard Profession - Chapter 1 - 00 Please don’t disturb me

In the aftermath of a tragic incident, the soul of Zhang Fei was transmigrated into a sacred body in a world of cultivation. Joined by the consciousness of an ancient cultivator, Zhang Fei must find a way to survive in this deadly world of beast demons and immortal cultivators.

Residing within the dense forest in Nore are the beautiful elves of Elune Forest. After the young elves began to be hunted by the humans to become s*aves, the Queen of Elune decided that young elves could not leave the forest until after their adult ceremony at fifty years old. When Hai’an’s ceremony finally arrived, he was excited to be able to finally travel away from his home and see everything the world had to offer. However, he got more than he bargained for.

Caelith doesn't want too much in life, a clean home, a happy mother, and maybe a girlfriend. Raised in the Stormont manner, one of the highest ranking noble household in the kingdom, he grew up a bastard, mistreated and abused by the main lineage.At the tender age of sixteen nobles undergo a divine ceremony, receiving the opportunity to be blessed by the gods however he receives Nothing.Caelith struggles in this world but at the end of the day, He is Nobody, and he has Nothing.

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.”