MTL - The Law of the Silent Gentleman - Chapter 101 Revenge Feast 1

Someone once saw me at the end of the world and respectfully called me the serpent that coils around the world—Jörmungandr.Someone once gazed upon my form at the edge of the Underworld and called me an ancient serpent—Satan.I was also feared by the gods and was called the hundred-headed dragon—Typhon.I have had many names—the serpent of creation, the serpent of sacrifice, the serpent of ceremony, the serpent of the world...But I have wandered through the chaos and arrived at the wilderness. There is only one divine name—the Primordial Ancient Serpent, the origin of everything.

NOTE : This book was stolen by someone on Amazon and is being distributed without my permission, a report has been filed for the same.Follow the story of the crimson princess Dia Gremory, who aims to become strong enough to live comfortably with those she loves.There is no NTR, R*pe or anything dark enough.Attention there may be him and his who have crept into the story without me realizing so if you see please let me knowThere will be crossovers with other stories. For now tensura, reborn to master the blade confirm.Of course, I only have my OC, and can be 2, 3 others otherwise the rest belongs to their respective history.If you don’t like the story, please don’t start insulting me or anything. I’m just writing it for fun.

We’ve come to a world where the roles of men and women have been reversed. So, of course, women will rush to us. “You don’t have to bring water.” “Oh, okay…” …I guess I’ll just have to live the way I always have.

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.”