MTL - Warrior’s Promise - Chapter 199 Cultivation change

“dig up a grave , its history will resurface and if my history is dug up then only graves will resurface ” - divine bane zedA boy too smart for his age ,chosen by the ruin as the dawn of the prophecy .destined to fight for eternity but never remembered .carrying the death of million, he walks the path of solitude ,no love ,no glory,only the endless death and regression ahead.This is the story of a boy who as died million times and regressed back each time .story of a boy whose suffering can never be know or remembered .As he is the divine bane and this is his fate .

Chu Nan was just an ordinary student, but because of an accident, he obtained the data collection, analysis and processing ability equivalent to the most advanced optical brain.

The world is a sea of bitterness.

The mortal swims in the sea.

The body is the vessel.

The soul is the mortal on the vessel.

The vessel carries the mortal as it sails endlessly towards the other side of the sea.

Does cultivating the body strengthen the vessel enough to reach the other side of this sea of misery?

Or does cultivating the soul give the mortal on the vessel the ability to master swimming?

Cultivating according to the martial path allows one to become an Earthly Immortal.

Cultivating according to the immortal path allows one to become a Divine Immortal.

Which path should be chosen?

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”