MTL - Low Temperature Dependence - Chapter 177 Extra 6

The once greatest Saint underneath the heavens has been reborn after one hundred years. He cultivates with mighty skills, and he fights to once again reach the top of the world!

Don’t compete with me when it comes to concocting pills, 100% effectiveness means nothing to me.

Don’t compete with me when it comes to cultivation speed, I won’t be responsible when you die from embarrassment.

Don’t compete with me when it comes to experience, as I’m an ancient ancestor.

The existence of Jiang Chen is destined to ridicule thousands of geniuses…

All her life, Eleanora did everything to make him love her but in the end, what she got from him was her execution for a sin that she never did.

Before dying, Eleanora coldly stared at his bloody red eyes as he lifted up the sword to execute her…

“I will never forgive you for killing me and my child.”

For the first time in her life, She saw his anxious gaze.

But it was too late as the sword in his hands had already landed on her neck, separating it from her body.

Eleanora finally thought everything was over but then she opened her eyes again, to find herself back in 12 years in the past when all the misfortune was yet to happen.

She was firm to change her tragic ending this time but it was not only her who changed…

“Even if you hate me, you can only be mine in your every life… My Empress.”.....

I killed the player.

He was one hell of a f*cker.

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.”