MTL - Assassin’s Chronicle - Chapter 390 Never regret

By the fourth year of Su Wan's career, every league rookie hears the same warning from their coach and veteran teammates: “You can try to impress him. You can even try to defend him. But no matter what—no matter if he hurls the most brutal insults your way—never, ever talk shit to him!”

I transmigrated to the Great Qin empire to find myself a famous good-for-nothing in Ye Manor and the subject of ridicule of everyone. But thankfully, my dantian is the planet Earth.

When the Earthlings cultivate and comprehend anything, it will also turn into my own cultivation and comprehension. Each time one more Earthling reaches First Honor Inborn Level, I’d be able to add on the strength of an First Honor Inborn Level to my own strength.

There are 1.4 billion people on this Earth. I’ve hit jackpot.

Beneath the daily routine, at the end of rationality, outside the world you are familiar with – there is a landscape you have never imagined.When Yu Sheng opened the door for the first time, the world he was familiar with collapsed.And the “truth” that goes straight to the root of the world came to him.

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.”