Versatile Mage: Starting with the White Tiger Pendant - Chapter 212: Yet It Was People Who Left Me Covered in Wounds

The call of the nightmare realm cannot be denied, the woven fate is inevitable.

His ability to travel to the nightmare realm granted him immortality but also pit him with an unfamiliar world, curses and magics unseen before in the real world.

Monsters of unknown origin, macabre beasts and horrors beyond the ken of man have taken the place of old inhabitants of a once glorious civilization.

Now under the light of the Clairvoyant Moon the nightmare realm is on the verge of destruction. Here you will find dishonorable knights, mad sorcerers, twisted alchemist, the malformed Lost Ones and the vestiges of old gods all converging in a dead world.

But there are also those who seek to undo the curse, to restore the world. There are scavengers that only want to survive, the seekers of truth that seek the secrets of old.

And then there’s Aldrich who plans to exploit the resources and powers of the nightmare realm to achieve his own goals.

The epic tale of struggle against impossible odds and enemies bigger than life.

What Aldrich will find outside his little village will not just test the limits of his will, but also his sanity.

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Aldrich, is a fifteen year old boy, living in a small village called Wakefield, he dreams of being a Crestmaster.

On the day Aldrich awakens his Crest, Wakefield is attacked and burned.

He is the only survivor, barely making it out with a mysterious gift, a heavy mission and dire warnings to never turn back.

He is then told to forget about what he saw and the innocent villagers that died, to never ask questions. All things Aldrich could never do.

One day he will uncover the forces behind the massacre and take his revenge. But for now he will lower his head and pretend that nothing has happened.

For now.

Jian Wushuang was reborn in adversity. In order to get his revenge, he began to cultivate Heavenly Creation Skill. With the help of the Heaven defying cultivation method, Jian Wushuang gradually grew into a peerless genius from an ordinary practitioner. With a sword in hand, no one is his match. Using his extraordinary Sword Principle, he killed all his opponents and eventually became number one Sword Master from time immemorial.

As the final dragon lay defeated, Aaran stared at the sky while the rest celebrated.[Awaiting the gods’ response...]He clenched his fists, his heart pounding. A shred of hope flickered in his eyes, only to be extinguished like always.[The attained outcome was deemed unsatisfactory.]Aaran had seen the message for the twentieth time. He had become the gods’ plaything in their desire to witness the “perfect ending”.He regressed once again, but this time as a toddler and charm being the only stat he had.But something was amiss. The world he remembered had changed. Powers that did not exist before had taken hold of the world.Tired of following the traditional route, Aaran chose to fight darkness with darkness… as the gods’ chosen necromancer!

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.”