Wayfarer - Chapter 1010: The Guidance of Law

While she was opening and closing her eyes, Mu Rou Sang had finished her transmigration.

“Her background was miserable, her family was ruined, she had no parents, and she had no brothers or sisters.”

She only had one brother who was dependent on each other.

- Description from Novelupdates

A hero must be compassionate, selfless and courageous.But that isn't all. Because a hero must also be powerful.In this world, power is everything. Strength decides who gets to save lives and who's left with community service. That’s why I was nothing — a rank 50 E-Class reject, skating through the streets, saving what little I could while the real heroes battled gods and monsters.Then one day, I died. Almost.Dragged into the abyss, I was given a second chance: the Forever Core. An armor that evolves. A system that never stops adapting. Every battle, every hit, every mistake, I come back stronger.Now, the monsters that once crushed me can’t kill me the same way twice.I must adapt. Evolve. I must grow stronger and fight harder. Because humanity is worth fighting for.Even if I have to burn every villain alive to prove it.

I possessed a third-rate villain who died in every route of my favorite game.

But I want to live.

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.”