This Sword Cultivator is Somewhat Dependable - Chapter 583 03-25 - 59: Courage of the Green Snake in the Sword

Lin Da, a former professional player, arrived in the game “Mystic Continent” and aimed to team up with a few “Young Ladies” from Another World to conquer fifty levels of Mystic Realm and become the strongest adventurer squad.However, ever since the team had risen to fame, they had changed somewhat.“Why is your healing so slow? I almost got killed by the Magical Creatures.”“The reason your level is so low is that you don’t train diligently, always have crooked thoughts about us. This 23-year-old guy is so disgusting.”“Better leave the team and become my servant instead; my pet dog just needs a playmate.”The attitude of the three Young Ladies chilled Lin Da’s heart, and he opted out of this team that he had been with for three years and had grown deeply fond of.Only then did they realize who the core of the team really was.When they regretted their actions too late and tried to apologize to Lin Da, seeking to join his team, Lin Da glanced at the team composed of prettier and hotter beautiful girls behind him and said helplessly:“Sorry, my team is full.”

Zero, a 35-year-old mercenary, after being betrayed by one of his teammates who told his enemy about him. He chooses suicide so that he can kill his enemy and his traitor teammate. After that, he was reincarnated into the world of magic, in the body of an 18-year-old teenager with the same name as him. However, his body does not have mana or the talent for magic. But with the help of the cultivation system, he has unrivaled power in the world and has a harem of beautiful wives.

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.”

I have clairvoyance, and I can see antique treasures no matter where they are hidden. Is there anything else in the world that I can’t go to?

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