MTL - eSports Has No Live Stream - Chapter 3 .Yasuaki

What does it feel like to be a cannon fodder in your novel?

After ruining countless of his novels with sh*t endings,

Gu Yan who finally received his retribution understood.

Heaven spared no one.

In order to protect his small life, Gu Yan has been sent to diligently clean up his own mess.

However, never did he expect that his ‘clean up’ would be too thorough.

Seeing that the man who was suppose to have killed him kneel down on one knee and take out a ring while saying to him, “Marry me.”

Gu Yan: “…”

- Description from Novelupdates

Transmigrated to become a disciple of the demon sect, relying on the technique modifier to become a giant of the demon path.

[Detected the technique “Blood Nerve”, relying on devouring blood to cultivate]

[Side effect: easily affected by the spirit contained in the blood, becoming bloodthirsty, murderous, insane, and even brain dead]

[Please wait, system modification is in progress…]

[Ding! Modification completed and side effects canceled]

Tao is willing to take the peach blossom system to go to different worlds to complete the task, and the most important task is to fall in love. And every love, must be very sweet and very pet, only to complete the task.

In short, after he opened, every world must show love.

White Lotus: I feel the deep malice from the world. If I say that I am the protagonist, why did I finally become cannon fodder?

Slag Man: It’s too fast to face, like a tornado. If God gives me another chance to come back, please let me love him for 10,000 years.

Onlookers: God, take the two shows and love, we are going to be killed by dog ​​food!

- 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.”