MTL - I Really Don’t Know How To Practice - Chapter 974 Each has its cards

Luo Zheng is at the bottom of the Luo Clan hierarchy, despite his family being the founders of a power refining technique that could instantly defeat any opponent.

One night, enraged by unfair treatment from a family steward, Luo Zheng burns the family records. In doing so, the hidden magic in the book engulfs him and Luo Zheng becomes a new skilled fighter. Fleeing his home and despicable clan, Luo Zheng must learn to harness his powers to rescue his younger sister while his own cousins are on his pursuit.

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No one told Xie Qiao that the after effects of transmigrating into a fetus would be so great. The moment she did it, she became sickly. Fortunately, she had maximum affinity with living creatures. The animals she reared could fight, the herbs she planted could live. She could write talismans, read fortunes, and get rid of love interests. She could perform divination, detect aura, and read Fengshui. She could also good at the chess, music, literature, art, carving, and cooking, so she could earn a lot of money. And she was now taken back by the crown prince. “I heard that the princess consort brought about a lethal fate to her parents since young, and she has a lethal destiny. She’s someone who will not live long. If she marries the crown prince, she might not be able to protect her life. Very soon, she’ll kick the bucket!”This was the secret news of the imperial city.Several years later…“Grandfather, Grandmother, did anyone place bets on when you’re going to die today?”

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.”

My past life: Ordinary. Mediocre.

What I want in this life: Riches. Power. Influence.

My goal: To be a prodigal son. A waste youth with riches and power. Maybe even sidekicks.

My name is Ye Lang, I’m an alchemist, and I’m also here to squander as much money as I can.

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