MTL - Miracle Throne - Chapter 181 Mirrors and demons

This is a time of great powers: The vast Persia, Sparta that is founded by force, Athens with its trade and business, Thebes the rising star, The ambitious Macedonia, The twin heroes of the Western Mediterranean, The rising Rome and so on.

This is an era of brilliant stars: Agesilaus II – the last king of Sparta, Epaminondas – the Rising General of Thebes, Philip II – the founder of Macedonian hegemon, Dionysius – the tyrant of Syracuse, Camillus – the Roman dictator and savior…

This is an era of contention among a hundred schools of thought: Plato – the great philosopher, Antisthenes – founder of cynicism, Pythagoras – school of number, Democritus – the encyclopedia scholar, Hippocrates – the father of western medicine, Aristophanes – the great dramatist…

What will the hero bring to the world when he comes to this age as a humble mercenary through rebirth?

- Description from Novelupdates

“I already have a child with another man.”

It was a lie made in order to refuse the proposal of the leader of the most feared mercenary company in the entire country. But his response was unexpected.

“It doesn’t matter who the child is. Just birth it.”

She couldn’t understand.

What could this man possibly want with the princess of a failing nation?

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.”