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... n would be unable to see what was inside clearly, but Carlson could see the pictures reflected in the crystal ball clearly and notice details that others would not know.

But after a long time, an impatient voice suddenly traveled over from the entrance.

"How's the situation?"

Carlson was stunned for a moment. He raised his face a little, which was shrouded under the shadow of his hood. A hint of a smile appeared on his lips. "Congratulations, Evil Emperor, your plan went off ...

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“Listen, the ancient gods are whispering, He said…they will return eventually!”

According to legend, the rulers of this world should have been those ancient gods, and every death of them was a grand rebirth…

Those who believe in the gods wake up the sleeping gods, light torches in the dark, and burn the world.

My father disappeared because he was investigating the resurrection of a certain god, and his life and death are still unknown.

I panicked, but not totally panicked.

Because the resurrected god is me.

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MTL - You Can’t Be Fierce Towards Me!Chapter 131 Extra four
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Wen Tian, on the way to send off his sister, was kidnapped by some people.

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Wen Tian: QAQ

The Bandit Head: Come, my wife, let me look at you, baby.

SiFang Town has been bustling with liveliness recently. The town’s best-looking Young Master Wen, has been missing for half the month and then suddenly returned with a man.

The wild man, called Chu XiangTian, is the head of the bandits in the Western Mountain. Rumors said that it is a devil who kills people without blinking.

Everyone sighs incessantly, Young Master Wen is truly pitiful…

Young Master Wen, who the people said were pitiful, with widely round eyes stared fiercely, “You sleep in the study room at night!!”

The tall and burly man immediately had a black face.

Wen Tian with sunken lips, said “You are being fierce….. QAQ”

Chu XiangTian soften, itching to hold that person in his arms.

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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.”