MTL - Eight Desolate Sword God - Chapter 1122 叶恬儿

The real beast master: the pet beast charges forward, and the beast master can only cheer from the rear!

False beast master: The beast shouts six six six, and the beast master holds the sun and the moon to pick up the stars!

As a fake beast master, Chen Wen said that the pet beasts are all for him to bond with.

- Description from novelbuddy

“Screw magic, I want to learn how to do cool flips and stuff.”

Magic is awesome, until you've studied it for centuries.

Doevm reincarnates into a human to experience the path of a fighter to its fullest and swears not to rely on magic.

There is only one problem, a goddess stands in his way.

She pits him against both the hero and the villain for all of eternity.

How will he escape this, with magic or his fists? Maybe both?

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!”

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.”