Immortal Taoist Lord: My Cultivation Have No Limits - Chapter 348 - : 129 Magic Duel, Clown (10k Subscriptions Requested)_6

Obtaining ancient inheritance, the small farmer embarks on a path of prosperity. Let me show you the power of a small farmer!

The countries of Mephius and Garbera have been waging a war for ten years and are trying to put an end to this long fight through a political marriage between the two royal families. Orba, who was driven from his home because of the war and was forced to become a gladiator, looks exactly like the crown prince of Mephius, and it has been decided he will be substituting him during the wedding ceremony. On the other hand, Vileena, the princess of Garbera, has secretly decided to ensnare the crown prince for her own country’s interests.

Returning to the Mysterious Era features a boy who can time-travel back to the past using old relics. The twist? He’s stuck in the body of the relic’s owner.After a near-death experience, Cassius unlocks his ability to travel to the past in the body of Li Wei, a member of the Wind Elephant Sect. Li Wei was a coward who lived a life of regrets up until the day the entire Wind Elephant Sect was mu*dered. As Cassius relives Li Wei’s past, he makes different decisions to show Li Wei a different kind of future.By living out the ups and downs of Li Wei’s life, Cassius is introduced to the world of Covert Martial Arts, ties that run closer than blood, and supernatural forces. Crossing the line between the ordinary and supernatural, he realizes there’s no way back. New friends and enemies slowly integrate into his reality.Now, he must uncover the secrets of Covert Martial Arts and get stronger to survive.

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.”