MTL - The Female Supporting Role is Super Strong But Took the Love Brain Script - Chapter 95 (1)

In this world, mystery and the supernatural never depart.Those who, with bodies honed through thousands of trials and indomitable wills, break the chains of life and pursue human limits in modern cities, are known as martial artists.Under neon lights, swords clash. At the tops of towering buildings, friendships are made through fists.Among mountains and peaks, heroes discuss their ways.Here, martial artists who have broken the “seven physical limits” carve their godlike names under the heavens, stunning both the ancient and modern worlds and making the stars shine brighter!Here, the once-in-a-decade “World Martial Arts Tournament” broadcast is the highest rated program globally, where martial artists fight for their nation and themselves!Here, martial artists, with their mortal flesh, combat dark spirits and mythical beasts in life and death battles to protect their homeland's civilization.Here, every true martial artist unswervingly believes:“The martial way is boundless; my body is unfettered!”

Accidentally, Ye Xiaochen became new generation of Heavenly Farmer (Shen Nong), the treasure in the eyes of deities of three realms.

What is the most important thing about rebirth before the apocalypse? Grain storage? No, it’s trying to find the most important person in the past life! Reject the so-called relatives who have evil intentions!

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.”