Staying Alive Cautiously in the Celestial Realm and Becoming the Strongest - Chapter 1 - : Crossing With a Panel

The world I transmigrated into was a dark fantasy game universe, devoid of hope or dreams.Doesn’t feel like it at all, though.

Leguna. An orphan. His life changed dramatically the day the thieves’ guild happened to select him for training and development. He would go on to become lifelong friends with a loyal mercenary, the partner of a beautiful magus who was cold as ice, the savior of a mysterious disfigured dark-elf girl with a talent for the Breath, and the unlikely caregiver for a feisty young maiden. And yet, who would be with him to the very end?

What is love?Love has a lot of meanings.To scientists, it is something that arises as a result of hormonal changes in the human body. To philosophers, it Is something that is triggered in human consciousness when two souls connect. it means a lot of different meanings to different people. Love is happiness to some, it is pain, sadness, ecstasy. It is an emotion that cannot really be explained. It is something that is meant to be felt.You also choose to be in love.But that didn’t happen to me. I didn’t get the opportunity to pick who I wanted to explore these crazy feelings with.It was chosen for me.I had no choice but to love him and he had no choice but to love me.Our love story is the strangest but also the most beautiful ever told.This is our chosen love.

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.”