MTL - From the Void King To the Ghost Swordsman of the Light of the Beginning - ~ Dove for the morning update

When a person dies, they either die light as a feather (aka unimportant) or heavy as Mt. Tai (aka very important).

After opening the ancient well in his backyard, Li Yin’s life has changed since then!

Sixth Prince Li Yin? 21st century otaku Li Yin? He can travel freely between the two worlds, what kind of life should he choose?

Harem? Hegemony? trickery? Is that all?

No! With the advantages of modern technology, he wants to build his fiefdom into the economic center of the world, and the world map will be filled with his colonies…

PS: This is written about the Tang Dynasty, but it is a parallel time and space. There is no need for historical burdens, and it will be a little different from the real Tang Dynasty. Please don’t be serious about the textual research party, because some small details like titles are annoying. This is not what I wanted, thank you!

- Description from novelbuddy

While the blue light blossoms, the insignificant struggle at the bottom. He grasps the opportunity to change his fate and embarks on an unprecedented path…

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.”