MTL - Feng Mang - Chapter 60 Poor kind.

What happens when one eats Death?

Personally, I don’t really know. What I do know is merely one thing.

I’m hungry.

Therefore, I’ll take the heads of these guys and deliver them to my superiors.

Surely, I’ll be able to eat delicious food.

Come, if preparations are in order, we depart.

She spent the night with the man who destroy her country, fleeing with their child in her arms. With that, she believed their relationship had come to an end. “Even if he’s another man’s child, even if he’s not of my blood, or even if he’s the child of a bastard, I’ll raise him as my own.” Until he came to her with eyes as ferocious as a beast. “Don’t even think about running away using the boy as an excuse. I’m still struggling to control the urge to crush the little creature that took you away from me.”

Yang Feng somehow transmigrated into a different world and received a legacy of an ‘ancient high tech’ family, which does not directly raise his power, but gives him the technology to build things which are way more advanced than the seemingly medieval world.

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.”