MTL - League of Legends: 700 Years Later - Chapter 1679 The assessment will start!

He was the one who would become the greatest monarch in history.

“The spot you had climbed once, there’s nothing you can’t climb again.”

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Two years ago, the mere fifteen-year-old scion of the Lin family, in front of the colossal behemoth that is the Murong clan, made a vow!Two years later, no one knows what he has gone through, but from the moment of his return, he radiates a brilliance that seems to compete with heaven and earth!(Note: The protagonist of this book is very aloof, cold, and passionate. Those who like to read about a military king's ambiguous romances and flirts, please bypass this one.)

I have been reincarnated as a mob. Isn’t that usually how it starts, right? But this development feels a little strange, doesn’t it? Most people would be sad to be a mob, but then they end up having a significant role and overshadowing the protagonist. Well, that’s only natural. After all, I know the story and work hard from the beginning, so it’s only natural that I excel.

So, the correct way to express it would be like this:

“I’ve been reincarnated as a mob protagonist.”

“I’ve been reincarnated as a mob.”

To put it accurately, “I’ve been reincarnated as a mob in a popular novel. I’m a character who doesn’t appear in the story at all.”

Well, some people might say, “Hey, if that’s the case, you’re not even a mob!” But the thing is, that novel is popular, you know? It’s been adapted into a game.

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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.”