The Greatest Disgrace in Marine History - Chapter 230 - 132: You Killed Him, Didn’t You

“My turn, draw cards”

“It’s better to use this one if you’re fighting”

Looking at the card in his hand, Yue Si gave a villainous smile.

- Description from novelbuddy

Might is truth!

Iron-blooded Prime Minister Bismarck once said: “To solve major contemporary problems, we cannot rely on speeches and parliamentary resolutions… we must rely on iron and blood.”

Qin Tian, ​​a military enthusiast, was reborn as the fifth son of William II, Prince Oscar . Originally, he just wanted to eat and wait to die, but by accident, he became the heir to the empire.

For his own life, Qin Tian had to do everything possible to let Germany win the war!

Qin Tian’s goal: “Use the German sword to obtain land for the German plow, obtain daily bread for the German people, and fight for the land under the sun for the German nation!”

I was the awakened on the path to become the strongest, but instead, I became the final boss of an Eroge.Pushed into the body of Eugene Hall who was but a petty villain that somehow spelled the end of the World, I had to live again in a world of demons and gods.Moreover, the main characters were all regressors who wanted me dead.Now I was stuck as a villain with heroes and villains, demons and gods all coming after my life. And even beyond them were the oncoming outer gods that wanted the world gone.And honestly? I didn't care.My path was the path to the strongest! Nothing else could come in my way!!

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.”