MTL - The Holy Lord In the Comic World - Chapter 341 : So this is a math problem

Her sister steal her lover

She thought it was a dream

after rolling and waking

Nightmare Reality

Her loved ones, her love, her life

They were all trapped in that big fire

burned to ashes

Merged into the body of External Disciple Chen Yu was the heart of a demonic god.The heart is the core of life, the most fragile vital organ. To Chen Yu, however, the heart was his greatest strength, granting him power and potential beyond demonic and divine beasts. Here on out, we follow him as he embarks on a mysterious and wonderful journey.

At the beginning of the game, there is a small broken boat, and the whole family lives on the boat, which is leaking from wind and rain.

Huo Xi didn’t panic at all, rowed the small broken boat vigorously and started to make a fortune. If you don’t pay attention, you will become a rich man in the south of the Yangtze River.

It’s time to return to Beijing to take revenge and regain your identity. Take mine and return it! Eat mine and spit it out!

A black-bellied person: It’s lonely alone, why don’t you take me with you?

Huo Xixing’s eyes widened: Hurry up and hand over Xie Jin and leave! Don’t delay my sacking.

A black-bellied person: I won’t leave. How dare you play tricks on the grace of saving your life? Since then, you should promise each other with your body, be like a cow or a horse, and let yourself be driven.

Huo Xi: Huh? Set sacks together?

A black belly: go!

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”