MTL - Song Tan Jishi - Chapter 422 take grandma home

Jeong Yoo-shin, 23 years old, was suddenly transported to another world.In this world, not only was it impossible to return home, but even survival was uncertain.Black-haired humans were called Barbarian and treated as northern savages.There was only one place where he could gain the strength to survive and find a way to return home: the Great Labyrinth.“I must become stronger to survive. And I will definitely go back.”This is the story of a black-haired human’s fierce struggle for survival in the labyrinth.

The cycle of life is not infinite—except, perhaps, for Elijah.At 122 years old, Elijah lived a long and successful life—until he woke up as someone entirely new. Now, an anomaly in a mysterious kingdom sustained by magic, he faces questions about his place in a world that doesn't defy the laws of nature, but take them to an entirely new level.For over six millennia, this isolated realm of 300,000 citizens has thrived, its survival bound to the magic that nurtures its air, water, and food. Yet, some whisper that a kingdom refusing to expand is doomed to fall. How, then, has this kingdom endured?As Elijah uncovers ancient secrets, dives into treacherous cave systems, and grapples with the fatal flaws of magic, he learns the truth about existence itself—forces that shaped the cosmos. New alliances rise to confront an ancient plague, and the kingdom's delicate balance teeters on the edge of collapse.In this world, the vibrant hues of freedom and potential are mere illusions, like sunlight filtered through stained glass. Elijah must decide whether to shatter the illusion—or embrace it.————This novel goes into great detail about the ways of the people and how it will differ from the suspected outside world. What seems like a population of people who do not have much knowledge, show how they found their way by “feeling”, or by anecdotal(personal) evidence.

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.”