MTL - Chang’an Small Restaurant - Chapter 59 Lin Shaoyin rolls over

To the one who has never owned, obtained, or enjoyed anything throughout their entire life.“You have been chosen.”Thus, I shall bestow this power on you, for you are ’empty.’The power of the Void.Be my apostle and carry out my will.

In the middle of the night, looking at the woman in his embrace, he smiled devilishly, “With your discontentment, do you want me to continue?”

In the world of war games

Red Comet: “Amuro Ray, what kind of ability is it to bully recruits, come out and face me if you have the ability!”

Lin Youde shook his head: “What you’re looking for is Amuro Lei, what does it have to do with me, Li Abao?”

Go offline and return to the real world, to Konaku.

Lin Youde looked at the steel giant in Gnaku and couldn’t help sighing.

“Gundam is so handsome~!”

Correspondent: “Dr. Lin Youde, I have your sortie order.”

Lin Youde sighed: “Have it started again, stupid soul bound by gravity.”

Entering the cockpit of the red steel giant and opening the open door, Lin Youde said seriously.

“You guys, are you going to start a war again?”

“I just want to play games in peace!”

“Lin Youde, Gu Tie, attack!”

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”