Stubborn Love of a Roguish Scion - Chapter 404 - Mo Jiangye Is Pretending to Be a Pig to Eat a Tiger

In the vast forests, towering mountains, and the wide seas, mythical creatures spread across the wide world. Some are large and terrifying, while others are small and gentle; half of them enjoy harming humans, while others wish to help them.No one knows exactly when they appeared. Some say they existed before the human race emerged, while others claim they appeared alongside the first humans in this world.Their forms and abilities vary, and different races deal with them differently. Some despise them and consider them monsters, while others revere them. Yet everyone agrees on one thing: it is best not to attempt to meddle with them.Everyone, that is, except for one person.

“Want to know the meaning of life? Want to live… a real life?” The world changes when you click YES. In God’s dimension, you have to keep getting stronger, keep evolving to survive one horror movie after another. Do you kill everyone in your way to reach the end as a lone king? Or fight along with your comrades and survive through the support of friends? Everything was just for staying alive. Until you find the secret of God’s dimension. Who is the real enemy?

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.”