MTL - I [Imperial] Am This Type of Man - Chapter 112 Conquer the Strongest Sentinel (16)

The latest offering from the pen of the creator of “My Military Branches Can Evolve Infinitely”, Bimo Zhijian.---------------------------------------------The world has experienced a radical transformation. Source Qi has awakened and the apocalypse has descended.This is a catastrophe and also the beginning of a new epoch.Tang Yu somehow obtained a domain system, and while summoning warriors, producing equipment, developing his domain, drafting rules...as he looked back, he discovered that he was already standing at the apex of the era.

Fourteen years old Su Bei almost died when she had a high fever, got transmigrated into another world and finally knew a shocking truth–it turned out that the world she was originally in was just a novel and her whole family were villains.

The woman who gave birth to them was the cannon fodder in the novel. She and Su Xiaobao were written like this in the extra chapter. One was a little bastard who tried to bully the male lead’s daughter and eventually got thrown into prison and the other one became an escort, who after having failed to seduce the male lead, was killed by an evil director. They also have a dad whom they never met and was the biggest villain in the book.

Back to her original world, the first thing Su Bei did was to take Su Xiaobao and find their father.

Su Bei: Su Xiaobao, quick, call him.

Su Xiaobao: Call him what?

Su Bei: Call dad.

Su Xiaobao: I don’t want to, do it yourself.

Su Bei: Dad!

Looking at these two dirty children in front of him, Mr. Qin’s eyes showed disgust.

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.”