My Master Only Breaks Through on the Edge of Death - Chapter 461 - 434: The Big Move of the Railgun

My name is Joelson, and I traversed across the world. I arrived at a continent of sword and magic and became a noble sorcerer.

When he woke up, Ji Que traveled to a dangerous world where fairy mountains collapsed and temples were abandoned.

Fortunately, he has a supernatural ability, which allows him to save his understanding and use it like banknotes.

The more understanding you accumulate, the more miraculous you can realize.

Comprehend “swimming”, you can swim as fast as a fish in the water, and you can swim up and fly on the ground.

After comprehending “The Analects of Confucius”, the knowledge will be integrated, and the muscle strength will increase exponentially.

After comprehending “The Book of Benevolence”, I have learned one more combat technique of “dividing people into two”!

After comprehending “Yi Xue”, I accidentally mastered a skill of “smashing the head into the body cavity”!

Comprehend “Xiaoyaoyou”, “Mozi”, “Taoist Tibetan”…

Afterwards, Ji Que started holding back his big move, wanting to see what effect it would have if his comprehension reached its limit.

Until one day, he couldn’t bear it any longer, and he kept wishing for a certain stir-fried dish that he had always wanted, so he used all his understanding on “stir-frying and tossing spoons”.

Later, there were rumors in the rivers and lakes that not long after a terrifying plague god came to the world, he was thrown to death by a passing cook…

- 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.”