MTL - Rebirth of Hong Kong 1981 - Chapter 992 The conspiracy against Li and Liu

Born as the thirteenth son of the grand Kingdom of Ironhelm, Prince Liam is far from being considered a contender in the race for the throne. With his father, King Elijah Orlean, having only eight years left to choose the next heir, Liam’s prospects are slim. Seen as the boy with the least mana talent, he is overlooked by the court, his siblings, and even his tutors.But appearances can be deceiving. At just thirteen years old, Liam is secretly an Expert Mage, capable of wielding magic with precision and power that even the most talented in the kingdom would envy. Determined to keep his abilities hidden, Liam embarks on a path of quiet preparation, honing his skills in secret while navigating the dangerous political intrigue of Ironhelm.

DING!![You killed a Level 3 Mutant Zombie for the first time!]-----DING!![You have crossed the limit of humanity! Entering the mutation stage!]-----DING!![Congratulations, user! You are now a being beyond human beings!]-----Being a good person cost him his life. When death sent him back, he vowed to take revenge and finish the job.Behind the icy cold that grips the world and the red light that fills the sky day and night, he must defy the zombie apocalypse.A safe house, unlimited food and drink, every conceivable weapon and a system to help him... But he has only two things on his mind: Survival and revenge.

I thought I would live a better life in my second lifetime. Unbelievably, I’ve reincarnated into a slime that rolls around on the ground. Anyway, this is my precious new life, so I must work hard.

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.”