The First World Sphere - Chapter 111

The Count of Chronia’s youngest son became a warlock to live.

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Vincent is a young orphan born without special powers in a world where those with ability are privileged. However, he still trains in the new world’s profession, his family’s martial arts and magic techniques to grow strong, hoping to one day fulfill his dreams of ending the war and bringing peace to the world.

A treasure with unthinkable uses gives him a chance to change his fate, but first, he must prove himself worthy of the name «Sangue!»

‹ Evolution process has started. The blood of the Vampire Progenitor, Kermis Idiouni De Sangue has been injected into the owner’s bloodstream ›

‹ Sangue Heart has been birthed ›

‹ You’ve successfully evolved ›

‹ Congrats on becoming a Demi-Human ›

‹ You’ve extracted the power contained in the blood of the beast. The power of blood has been merged with the owner’s body ›

‹ Your magic power capacity has increased to 90 units ›

‹ Your Strength has increased to 42 points ›

‹ Your agility has increased to 37 points ›

While he absorbs the blood of the beast, sunlight peeks through the green and thick canopies of the overgrown trees and shines upon his bloodied face as he comes to realize that he has become a monster lusting after blood.

With the mysterious treasure of his family, how far will he rise? Will his hopes for ending the war ever become a reality?

OR

Will he lose himself to the darkness of pleasure and become a monster?!

Read to find out!

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.”

I intervene in all events of the game. And take it away.