Come On, Son! You Got to Breakthrough Now! - Chapter 357 - 256 Emperor Talent_2

This is the story of a boy who lived a secluded life in the mountains, tending his farm, rearing his fish, and dreaming his dreams. Eh? Did I suddenly conquer all worlds and become the big boss? Or am I still in a dream?

- Description from Novelupdates

Struck down amid the battle, the Hero and Demon King meet their demise. As their souls linger on the edge of the afterlife, a mysterious force intervenes, merging their fragmented souls together with a new being. Rusty, the living armor, now affected by their memories and presence, embarks on his own quest. Will he seek revenge on those who betrayed the hero, or will he fulfill the desires of the fallen demon king? or instead, forge his own path?

“I stress repeatedly, the attitude of the Cultivation World is inherently distorted, not because I distorted it. They say history is written by the victors, so why am I still constantly slandered even after I’ve won?” Lu Yang Sword Immortal said so angrily in an interview with the reporter.The next day.“I stress repeatedly, I am the one who distorted the attitude of the Cultivation World.” Lu Yang Sword Immortal said so angrily during the reporter’s interview. –Reported by the 《Cultivation Daily》for you.

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.”