Esper Harem in the Apocalypse - Chapter 1004 Realization

“Is this man not going to divorce me? Why does he still ask me to warm the bed every night?”

If you just stay still, you’ll get to the middle.If you try to show off how good you are at work, the tasks will only increase.By the time I realized that the absolute rule of the military also applied to the position of the crown prince, it was already too late.

Introduction

In the ten years since the Great Chu, strange things have happened everywhere.

When he woke up, Zhou An became a yamen agent.

Crisis is always there, but fortunately Zhou An brought a small game made in his previous life.

As long as the life-exploding skills are used, the skills can undergo qualitative changes and become magical skills.

Knife skills – open the sky with one knife.

Turn the pot over – the Kingdom of God in the pot.

Swimming – making waves.

Several years later, Zhou An said that all he knew were common abilities in life.

The crowd was furious.

“You’re talking nonsense, I saw you split the sky with a knife!”

“You’re lying. I saw with my own eyes that you put a ten-foot-tall weirdo into a pot and beat it to death!”

“You said you can swim, but the huge waves have nothing to do with swimming!”

Facing the angry crowd, Zhou An sighed and took out a small sword as wide as his palm.

“I have learned a lot about blacksmithing recently, and I will show you how to defeat all magic with one sword.”

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”