MTL - I’m From The World Of Punishment - Chapter 145 2 ways

Qin Fan was reincarnated and dumped by the school beauty.She had no idea that in his previous life, he was a god of the stock market. His net worth was more than 10 billion, and he could weather any financial storm.In his previous life, he did not care for his younger sister and caused her to fall ill and be hospitalized. Therefore, the heavens gave him a chance to make up for his previous regret. Now, he only wanted to make his younger sister a princess!In this life, it was not enough for him to have a 10 billion net worth. Even 100 billion was nothing.He wanted to create the Qin’s First Group and make it the top capital consortium in the world.

These days, could one really time-travel just by dreaming? And to become a silly princess at that. Well, marrying a domineering man wasn't too bad. His taking a concubine wasn't the end of the world either. But why was she forbidden from liking anything except him? That was just too domineering! She had to escape! Ah, but upon escaping, she realized he was a half-demon who didn't understand love... and, moreover, a half-demon who had a three-lives connection with her...

To pick is to choose. This is a story about choices. Three thousand worlds full of gods and demons, with a daoist scroll in your hand, you are able to control the entire universe…

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.”