Strongest Cultivation Swordsmanship System - Chapter 9: An Echo of the Past

Reborn in the Marvel universe, Hawk learned one brutal truth—safety wasn't something you were given, you had to fight for it. He made himself a promise that day, committing to a path of relentless training and iron discipline that would define the next several years of his life.He didn't want a serum or a suit of armor, he wanted to unlock the power buried deep within.On the day his vow is fulfilled, he awakens a power that sings the song of creation itself, a force that can bend reality to his will.In that same moment, the sky over New York cracks open, and an alien armada pours through...

“Ah, Young Master, Cassius?...I'm afraid you'll be dissapointed to hear that he's not available at the moment as he's 'attending' to his adopted mother in her room.”Cassius's lovely maid, Isabelle said in a fluster while she heard lewd sounds escape from her Mistress's room.“No, I'm sorry to say that you can't meet Young Master today, since he's 'helping out' his sister-in-law with some 'favours' in her garden.” The innocent Isabelle excused herself as she witnessed her lady's flower being picked, instead of the rest of the flowers in the garden.“I hate to say this sir but Young Master, Cassius is currently guiding Miss Knight in the 'ways of the sword', so you can probably only meet him tomorrow.” Isabelle once again blocked the guests from entering, knowing that the sword her Young Master was handling could penetrate a body, but could never wound one.“I apologise once again as Young Master is at the Capital right now teaching a class to the female students in the Academy.” Isabelle said with her cheeks flushed, already knowing that her master was taking a very 'practical' lesson about human reproduction with the girls in his class.“Oh my! The King wants to meet the Young Master?...Well I guess he'll have to wait since Young Master, Cassius has gone clothes shopping with the Queen.” Isabelle lied to the King himself, knowing that her Young Master wasn't shopping for clothes and was actually removing the royal clothes off the Mother of the Country.Excuses...Excuses...The loyal maid, Isabelle had no choice but to make excuses for her Young Master, who was the most talked about and hated noble on the Continent because of his depraved escapades with all sorts of woman ranging from his own Family to Royalty itself and his Tyranical rule over his estate.And to think that not too long ago he was considered a wastrel noble, who was going to drink himself to death one day....When did it all begin she wondered as she excitedly walked into his room to get the reward she deserved for being such a loyal made, while someone else made excuses for her this time.•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•[No NTR - No Yuri - No sharing - No system that assists the protagonist - No mind control - No drugs or potions that influence the girls - No unnecessary Drama - Incest - Harem - Hardcore Netori - Slice of Life Romance - Demigirls - Elves - Vampires - Beast Girls - Slaves - Royalty - Finally a very competent protagonist]

When I entered for the Film Academy, the examiner arranged a crying scene for me. I pinched my thighs blue but still no tears came out, but now, oh.

Chen You held a cigarette with his mouth, give me ten seconds, I can cry like a dog, a dead dog.

444: Film Emperor, it’s time to go to the next set.

- 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.”