MTL - From Arms Dealer To King of War - Chapter 727 Talking about business while shooting guns

Talent? Unnecessary! Wealth? Doesn’t matter! Brain? Eat it!

Even if one was the greatest of gutter trashes with zero redeemable qualities, as long as they had a System, they are bound to reach the pinnacle of life.

Compass Carburettor, a dirt-poor orphan with absolutely zero f**king qualities managed to reach the peak of the business world by the age of 35, all while relying on his Money-Making System like a blinded barnacle.

But at the peak of his life, he was betrayed by his System.

Alex used to be a person with an incomplete soul and died at the age of 20 without being able to cultivate.

Mysteriously, he once again woke up in a different world, in the body of a young man with the same name, facial features, and even soul.

Yes, the other half of Alex's soul was actually born as this young man but since this young man's soul was also incomplete, just like Alex, he also couldn't practice martial arts.

After both incomplete souls fused together, a System suddenly appeared and Alex could feel a kind of connection with this system as if he himself was the creator of this system.

The System grants him the ability to see everyone's attributes and duplicate them.

Follow Alex's journey to the peak of martial arts as he'll overturn both heaven and earth and will even try to Replicate the Heavens.

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.”