The Regressed Blood Knight's Strategy - Chapter 3

As the future High-Ranking among Elven, I was meant to be dignified and holy—but my friends never gave me the chance. One is a human prodigy turned “cripple” after an accident, determined to prove everyone wrong. Another is the Demon King, whose idea of preparing for war involves turning his entire race into farmers. As I watch my friends stir chaos in their own ways, I can’t help but wonder—how did I end up in the middle of all this?

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- Description from novelbuddy

A certain girl aspiring to be an adventurer was invited to join the Hero’s Party by chance and became their apprentice. However, she was not actually treated as a real apprentice, and was subjected to physical violence and verbal ab*se every day.In the end, she was told that she had no talent and was about to be expelled from the party.However, the hero promised the girl that if she could stay in the Demon Forest for a week, her expulsion would be revoked. Unaware of the fact that she had been tricked, the girl was abandoned in the forest without even a weapon to defend herself.But the Hero’s Party had no idea that the girl had been observing every battle they had faced. Nobody knew of the girl’s talent.A talent, for which even the word “genius” would be too modest to describe, would allow her to reach the realm of excellence.The girl who was able to escape the forest soon registered herself as an adventurer, and in no time, she overtook the fierce fighters one after another.This was a tale of the rapid growth of a girl with the strongest physical prowess.A talented monster doesn’t need to be taught – someone once stated.

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.”