BlackWolf Origin - Chapter 82: War Begins

Skyfire Avenue is a street that is 2048 meters long. There are 168 stores here, and each of the store owners is an extremely powerful adept. The Avenue does not permit any vehicles or any robots to pass through it, much less mecha. Even the patrolling police must move about on foot. This is because this is a street for pedestrians, a lane for nobles, hidden away within this high technology world. Lan Jue, the greatest of the mercenaries, code-named ‘Zeus’, has secluded himself here in Skyfire Avenue after the death of his wife. The name of his shop is “Zeus’ Jewelry Store”, and here in Skyfire Avenue, he has been given the title, Jewel Master.

Above the Great Wilderness, there are many sects, and a hundred schools are in full bloom. Not only the three clans of humans, demons and monsters, but also the four unifications of Buddhism, Demons, Taoism and Confucianism.

Ordinary kid Liang Yan, because of a great change in a heavenly bead, embarked on a turbulent fairy path. Since then, he has experienced ups and downs for several times.

Qingshan flute Ren Pingsheng, a fairy in wine with a gourd and sword!

- 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.”