MTL - Heaven Defying Supreme - Chapter 26 death threat

Jeong Jiheon was once a promising swimmer, but retired early due to an injury and is now working diligently at a sports agency. Currently, the greatest interest in the sports market is none other than Kwon Jaekyoung, and numerous agencies are fighting fiercely behind the scenes to scout him.In the meantime, Jiheon is ordered by his boss to somehow arrange a meeting with Jaekyoung, and he miraculously succeeds thanks to their insignificant and brief relationship of going to the same swimming center 10 years ago.However, when they agree to meet for the first time in a long while, Kwon Jaekyoung is not interested in the terms of the contract. He just suddenly asks about Jiheon’s traits….

I was a genius in the Earthen Plane.

The tomatoes and potatoes are piled up in the warehouse, the dead horses are squeezing the milk, the vampires are carrying the watermelons, the succubuses are picking the eggplants, and the Lich King is quietly licking the ice cream…

The people who died in the crown pointed to the tribes:
Let the dead be born, and let the dead die!

(This book is based on the dungeon and the Warriors, Warcraft, heroes invincible, riding and cutting, and another million finished “Wasteland Ranch” character guarantee)

- Description from Uukanshu translation

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.”