Prodigiously Amazing Weaponsmith - Chapter 4954 - : Cloudy Qilin Clan Elder

Perhaps the paintings in a museum are subjected to more nonsense than you would hear anywhere else in the world.The language that comes out of an artist’s life is the painting itself. It contains the most ordinary lives that know failure, desire, recoiling in fear, and compromise.Learning is about understanding that language. We miss much of what the paintings speak because there is no way to ask the long-dead painters about the philosophy of their lives.In an alleyway in the residential area of Jongno, there’s a peculiar art gallery. This place enables us to transcend such limitations. By sheer coincidence, I ended up visiting that place and began living an entirely different life.

Lu Sheng, who transmigrates to the Star Sea Era, unexpectedly acquires an attribute panel capable of solidifying every single advancement he makes.In this perilous world filled with alien gods, immortals, Mechanical Ascenders, and more, Lu Sheng relies on himself to progress from mortal flesh to the singular True Self.Years later...Lu Sheng flying across the universe, gazes upon the endless darkness at the edge of the cosmos, where a colossal being as vast as the Milky Way Galaxy—once recorded in mythologies of Blue Star—resides.He speaks faintly, “You might be the most formidable Galactic Life Form I’ve ever encountered. Calling you a god wouldn’t be unjustified.”“Yet it’s a pity, for I have already established the foundation of the Great Dao and forged the singular True Self. Henceforth... you may call me the Martial God!”

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.”