MTL - Dominating Sword Immortal - Chapter 1209 Golden Buddha Extreme

Chen Xun crossed into the vast world of cultivation, awakened the Immortal System, and even received an Immortal beast as a companion.Chen Xun walked out of the ordinary small mountain village, stepping into the world of cultivation.Experiencing the prosperous era of cultivation world, the golden age, the era of rule collapse, the dark great turmoil era, and the era when all spirits were silent...Chen Xun, have no interest in fighting or killing, nor do I want to provoke anyone. I just want to travel the world with Bull and see all the splendor of the world.

Guang Xiaoyu always thought her senior brother was a dispirited ordinary person, until one day, his pet cow crushed an entire group of Divine Kings with a single stomp.The black dog opened its mouth and expelled a Sword Qi, blocking millions of the Demon Race.The Earth Chicken that babbled every day turned out to be a descendant of the Ancient Phoenix!Ahhhh!Her worldview collapsed!Zi Ji: “Senior sister, it's terrible! The Demon Emperor is leading an army of millions from the Demon Race towards us.”Guang Xiaoyu: “Senior brother, help!”(This is a story about the Demon Emperor’s rebirth, the Netherworld’s daughter’s reincarnation, the protagonist's pet-keeping journey, and a call to everyone to love and care for small animals!)

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.”