MTL - I Built a Territory in Ancient Times - Chapter 130 Festival

Hulk was a pro football player, a guy who loved nothing more than clutching a pigskin and barreling through the defense like a runaway freight train. He lived for the gridiron. But he never, in his wildest dreams, imagined he’d see a pair of nipples bigger than a football. He became a giant baby, reborn with a new name: Orion. Orion was the runt of the giant litter, the weakest of the bunch. But when he turned ten, something crazy happened. He saw a strange panel – that not only displayed his stats but also helped him level up. With the panel’s help, and a whole lot of elbow grease, Orion led his giant tribe to become the most powerful in the Barren Mountains. He went from zero to hero, becoming a mighty Titan King. He was no longer the runt; he was the top dog.

Hutson, a man reborn into a ruthless and dangerous world, now inhabits the body of a young hunter in a small barony. With no connections and nothing to his name, he must rely on his sharp mind and cunning to rise through a medieval-like society. As he climbs the social ladder, he uncovers a terrifying truth: wizards, beings far more powerful than any knight or noble, rule over the world. Driven by this discovery, Hutson throws himself into the pursuit of wizardry—a path darker and more brutal than he could ever have imagined. In a world where betrayal lurks around every corner, Hutson seeks what all others desire: immortality. With his intellect and ruthlessness, he will stop at nothing to claim it for himself.

The king of assassins was reborn, mastering both alchemy and poison. Sitting inside the space, there was a ghost that loved crying.

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.”