MTL - After Wearing a Book, I Pampered Five Big Villains - Chapter 501 Yiqi Nine Clans

The world was destroyed, the apocalypse descended, a new era began, and the right to survive as a Lord was granted to every person.Domains, Heroes, Troops, Treasures, Resources—all of the countless servers constructed by the myriad continents were opened up.Qin Muye looked at his panel, which was akin to cannon fodder, and his domain with its damaged suffix, and felt a strong urge to cry but no tears would come.No divine talent, no hidden hints, no overpowered Profession.“If that's the case, then I'll just have to adapt and live in a different way.”

I am Stephen, assistant to Vegapunk. After transmigrated to the One Piece world and failing in the attempt to take down Imu in collaboration with the Revolutionary Army, I unexpectedly found myself transmigrated again, this time to the Pokémon world.Although my body has become smaller, my mind remains as sharp as ever. My current identity is:The Chief Pokémon Professor of the Pokémon LeagueA mind 500 years ahead of its timeExecutive Vice-Leader of Team RocketThe second Master-level Trainer after Professor RowanThe benefactor recognized by Rayquaza as its successorHonorary Chairman of the Alola LeagueSupreme Commander of Dark Pokémon!

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.”

Different Hollywood, different life, there are only wonderful works, telling a new legend.

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