Boundless Cultivation - Chapter 53 - Showcasing skills

“Your stats are lower than that of your average person.”

The weakest by a mile among the otherworldlers of class 1-A, Takatsuki Makoto.

The Heroes and Sages who had cheat skills in his class had went off, and the base set lifespan is 10 years?

The Great Demon Lord is going to revive soon?

I am a Mage Apprentice?

Isn’t the balance way too bad? This damn Isekai is a tr*sh game!

“Want to be my believer?”, the Goddess that told me this has zero believers!

Aah, this is bad…I don’t think I can clear this. The Goddess with zero believers is an incredible beauty, and she is telling me she is imprisoned somewhere and is waiting to be saved. My last and hardest mission is to save the Goddess.

Clearing this Isekai that only has adversities, the story of the weakest mage.

After transmigrating into a weak noble body, Marvin discovered that he was familiar with the world, this was the game he played in his previous life and… Damn! He only had six months before the Great Calamity!

As a former top player, he would obviously fight to save the world… Yeah, no. Time to plan and prepare for the upcoming events, better to use that knowledge to get ahead rather than fight with gods.

Follow Marvin’s journey through this new world.

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”