MTL - Picking Up a General to Plow the Fields - v6 Chapter 1751 Departure 11

In the next life time, he would absolutely not become an author.
He would once again be cursed to the danger of crossing over into a book.
During the time when he broke free of his shell, what he first saw was just the handsome, handsome male lead that he had written.
During the time when the male lead was pinching the small soft flesh of his neck, it was also his first time hearing the male lead’s voice.
“Return goods,” the male lead said in this way toward the vendor stall’s owner.
Pei Bufan: “…… meow?”

- Description from Novelupdates

The dark BOSS, who had the fortune of becoming Earth’s last living human, brought with him his loyal, second last human to die, little brother to be reborn.

What does he want to do after being reborn? Is it world domination or world annihilation?

BOSS expressed, he was completely uninterested in these kinds of things, he only wants to die.

In order for him to make his boss who always seeks death to continue living, little brother is completely unscrupulous, serving his boss to make him comfortable and cozy, then later helplessly discovered…. The BOSS’s behaviour is more and more abnormal!

- Description from chrysanthemumgarden

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.”