MTL - The Beloved Imperial Consort - Chapter 390 Cloth

“At thirty, a rare age in the past, and when the King of Hell doesn’t summon you, you go of your own accord.”After his divorce, Lu Liang suddenly felt as though the dirt was already up to his neck, especially when he could hear the sound of a running memorial lantern.Until he discovered that it was a message from the future, and that’s when his life took a dramatic turn.…Living in this world, we are all mere mortals.Being a mortal isn’t so bad—greedy, lustful, cunning, selfish…

In a realm where magic entwines with conspiracy and tradition challenges power, an unexpected hero arises, not from the illustrious ranks of the Imperion nobility, but from the oft-overlooked Terrans—humans. Welcome to the world of Viktor Dravos, a saga that morphs the traditional fantasy narrative into an exhilarating journey of adventure, cunning, and introspective dilemmas.Viktor Dravos—assassin, wizard, and reluctant gentleman—is your unconventional protagonist, navigating the precarious intricacies of Imperion society. As a member of the House of Vorgan, the secretive underworld of the Kingdom, Viktor is privy to the hidden threads that manipulate the core of Imperion politics.

When disaster strikes, all order collapses, money becomes meaningless paper, and discussions about order lose their significance. The only assurance that remains is power. And I, possessing power, can do as I please.In this post-apocalyptic world, besides growing stronger, Li Ming must also deal with the persistent neighbor who continually sends the wife to borrow food.“Ma'am, you can't always request food without offering anything in return, can you?”

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.”