Dark King - Chapter 1125

He died because he could not kill ‘him’.

He lived because he could not kill ‘him’.

Kang Yoonsoo, who had lived 999 lives by losing to the Demon Emperor.

Once again, he went back twenty years in time, back to his starting point.

“I will end this.”

Either he dies, or ‘he’ dies.

The thousandth life of a man who has mastered all the skills in the world begins.

……………………………………………………………

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She was originally a daughter of a thousand gold, but who would have thought that her father would be demoted to the south of the Five Ridges once. Start with a dilapidated house, nothing you want!

A broken house is a broken house. A family working together is better than anything else. Zhao Liya took her parents, brother, sister and righteous brother to open up wasteland and farm, and make a fortune. There are treasures everywhere in Lingnan. If you work hard to start a business, your life will become more and more prosperous.

In the process of working hard to farm and make money, she met a very compatible partner. She pointed east, and her partner would never go west. She said that she would go to the sea, but her partner would never go up the mountain. Making spices, opening a restaurant… My partner said: “Good!”

Zhao Liya is very satisfied, give her another fight with such a partner!

Partner: “Not good! Just me is enough!”

Later, when the partner’s identity was exposed, Zhao Liya clenched her fists, “It’s really enough to have you alone!”

- 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.”