Ninth In the World - Chapter 894 - You Still Dare Call Yourself a Saint

Fifty years ago, Dragon City transmigrated to the Other World. Alone in the world, they lifted the banner of Earth’s civilization and fought against the terrifying forces of the Other World.

That year, the world changed, the game came to reality, and the magic disaster began to wreak havoc.

In order to resist all this, everyone must plan their careers, level up wildly, and strive to become stronger.

And Lin Ye obtained the special talent “Reversing the Universe”.

You can reverse and strengthen the effects of all self and self-acting skills, damage to healing, buffs to debuffs…

then.

He switched jobs and became a pastor.

“Come, come!”

“You can hit me with a forbidden spell or magic!”

“Knock out a little blood and count me as a loser!”

“Can’t move?”

“It’s my turn, Healer, go!”

[Hint: Attack the enemy with a healing technique, causing 100 million real injuries, and the opponent will enter a negative state such as forbidden treatment, poisoning, burns, silence, weakness, etc.! 】

enemy:”???”

- Description from novelbuddy

Father: “Qianqian, he may be a quadriplegic but as long as you agree to marry him, our company will be saved!”

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.”