Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters - Chapter 427 - 58 Square Formation

“Boss. Aren’t you too greedy? You are selling this husky mutt for 500,000?”

A cute girl in a ponytail held a husky puppy, whose eyes looked exceptionally wise, in her arms as she glared at Lin Ye. Her gaze was accusing him of being a dishonest trader.

Lin Ye explained, “Miss, I have to formally inform you: this is not a husky mutt.”

The girl retorted, “Don’t you dare trick me.”

“I’m serious. It has the bloodline of Cerberus. Its potential is limitless.”

The girl was stunned by Lin Ye’s words.

After pondering for a moment, she realized that what he said was absurd. Agitated, she yelled, “Are you sure? I don’t believe it!”

Lin Ye gestured at the husky in her arms as he said, “Little fella, get down and show your future owner what you can do. Go!”

“Woof!”

The girl shrieked in horror as she witnessed the little husky spit out a fireball the size of a fist.

……

Many years later, Lin Ye has crowned the Father of Beast-taming of the Blue Planet. When he was interviewed, he said forlornly, “It all started with a husky mutt.”

At the same time, in a mansion, a gigantic red dog with three heads sneezed. Then, it barked at the television before it.

“Woof!”

Collapsed without warning, and upon awakening, he found himself back in his childhood.He thought it was a blessing from above, but unexpectedly, tumultuous changes ensued, shrouded in mystery...

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.”

In this world, there is the beautiful mutual and telepathy love.