The Stonehearted Knight - Chapter 342: An old ally (1)

In the era of steam and mystery, becoming a correspondence student at the Thaumatology Academy was something Shad never thought of.

A whispering voice rang in my ears, who was reciting the poems of foreigners——

The old gods and aliens,

When the brassy rings of fate turn,

The golden runes are flickering.

steam surge,

the fire flickers,

Relic echoes,

The old gods revived.

The outstretched hand after the thick fog,

Pull back the hazy curtain of the crazy age.

Guests from afar explore the lands of the Old Continent,

Striking the melody of the next era.

Came here through the gate of time,

Shad put down his suitcase,

Look at the silvery moonlight overhead.

- Description from novelbuddy

Wen Er girl is unparalleled in beauty, but when people mention it, she has to sigh because she was born dumb. Unexpectedly, one day, the second girl Wen, who fell from the wall and hit Prince Jing’s body, suddenly spoke.

- Description from novelbuddy

When Ye Mo suddenly woke up, he realized that everything around him seemed to have changed: He has been transmigrated into the modern Earth where spiritual energy is scarce. His pretty master from his former world was nowhere to be seen. Most importantly, he found himself in the body of a young man who has been abandoned by his clan for an embarrassing reason…

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.”