Becoming the Villain’s Family - Chapter 191

Li Xiandao obtained the ancient Bank of the Universe but now the bank was totally empty and had no treasures at all. The only thing it had were a bunch of debts.

He returned with a vigorous presence, equipped with a Heaven-reaching Innate Ability. He could heal, tell fortunes, refine medicines, set formations, and refine talismans… “There’s nothing in this world that I can’t do!” — Shen Feng.

In an apocalyptic world where resources are limited and only the rich gets to survive, money is not a want; It's a need.Terrence Ardwil is a man who has been loyal to the government his entire life. He is part of the “Mission for Life” unit— a unit created to lessen the human's total population in the hope of making humanity survive even longer.He was already satisfied with how he lived until an incident happened that resulted in his unfortunate death.When he thought he had died, he suddenly fell from the sky and woke up 2 years back in time.Be it getting rich, saving humanity, or building his own empire? With the special system he acquired, he is determined to make everything possible in his second life![Ding! The Money Making System has successfully chosen you!]

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.”