MTL - The Rebirth of the Ghosts Return - Chapter 27 Long Shaozhen is a master

200 years after the world has ended, the laws of society have long been forgotten.

Li Wei accidentally obtained a simulator that allowed him to manage a family of cultivators. He discovered that the descendants in the game would offer him strange and unique sacrifices.“Thanks to the ancestor for the gift, our family has become the most powerful family!”“Hurry up and offer a sacrifice to the ancestor. Please accept this spiritual weapon!”“Ancestor, we have already conquered the immortal world!”Then, one day, the descendants of the Li family, who had been in the game, appeared on Earth in grand flying boats. Under the astonished eyes of the entire world, these descendants paid homage to Li Wei in great numbers.“Welcome our ancestor home!”

Time flew by. Even though their graduation was a long time ago, after countless nights and passing through fleeting time, their story is still circulated around the quiet campus of University G. This story has many different versions, but there is one thing that everyone knows to be true. Back then, that ordinary girl betrayed the genius of the fine arts faculty and yet, his love for her still remained. For her, he nearly died in a fire. For her, he gave up his chance to study abroad. Years later when they meet again, he is successful with a new girlfriend in his arms and she is indifferent with a light and clear smile. However, unknown to anyone, her longing had begun long ago and even now flooded her thoughts…

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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.”