MTL - Be a Leader In a Primitive Tribe - Chapter 116

In the presence of strangers, Han Chen was always handsome and cold, making it difficult for others to get close to him. He was like the frosted snow – pure, and slightly chilly. Yet, he was also like the river flowing in the dark night – quiet and moving. To many, he was akin to an unparalleled and untouchable god.

Only in the presence of Bai Jin Xi would this famous top police superintendent expose his deeply hidden shameless nature.

“Come and sit nearer to me, I won’t eat you. At least, not now.”

“I have never touched other women before. Do you want to check my body?”

“Bai Jin Xi, never ever leave my side. Every year, every month, every moment, every minute, every second.”

In her heart, there exists an obstinate old man – one who has tirelessly loved her throughout all these years.

A sudden and unprecedented event occurred and took place on Earth.A fissure instantly appeared in the clear blue sky, revealing a void devoid of any light beyond, instantly covering the whole planet, leaving no Life, no Hell, and no Paradise behind...Hence the start of a new chaos and a great beginning of life devoid of any hope began.In this apocalypse and lawless world without any limits set upon its beings, a silent dark wisp took form.A wisp that was bound to become the Horror of All was born...“Wait… I’ve become a Ghost?!”

In the year 1368, at the end of July, deep crimson shall descend from the heavens.

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”