MTL - Portable Space: The Peasant Princess - Chapter 40 Bring venison (2)

He died because he could not kill ‘him’.

He lived because he could not kill ‘him’.

Kang Yoonsoo, who had lived 999 lives by losing to the Demon Emperor.

Once again, he went back twenty years in time, back to his starting point.

“I will end this.”

Either he dies, or ‘he’ dies.

The thousandth life of a man who has mastered all the skills in the world begins.

……………………………………………………………

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“At thirty, a rare age in the past, and when the King of Hell doesn’t summon you, you go of your own accord.”After his divorce, Lu Liang suddenly felt as though the dirt was already up to his neck, especially when he could hear the sound of a running memorial lantern.Until he discovered that it was a message from the future, and that’s when his life took a dramatic turn.…Living in this world, we are all mere mortals.Being a mortal isn’t so bad—greedy, lustful, cunning, selfish…

Zhou Youlin, a famous ice queen of the special forces. During an accident in her mission, she was betrayed by her squad mates and was shot twice. She died on the spot. When she woke up again, she became the useless madam of a rice family and was a resentful wife who was neglected by her husband. Her son, too, was neglected.“If I’m not mistaken, we’re already divorced. You’re currently invading my home, my dear ex.” Zhao Youlin raised her chin and sat at the end of the couch with her legs folded. She looked prideful.Mu Tingfeng was expressionless. “We can get married again.”Zhou Youlin quirked her eyebrows. Then, she swung her hand, and a large number of handsome men’s pictures were spread on the table.“Baby, be a good boy and choose someone you like to be your stepdaddy, okay?”Mu Tingfeng’s expression… turned dark.

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.”