MTL - Rebirth of the Strongest Female Emperor - Chapter 417 Ye You (1)

“If there existed a horrendous ghost among the hwarangs, who would it be? Of course, it’d be Seol Yeong-rang who uses necromancy to call upon ghosts!”

Hwarang Seol Yeong, who was named as the horrendous ghost who’d bring forth a great disaster one day.

There was only one way to get rid of the false accusations and return to his original position.

It was to prove he wasn’t a horrendous ghost by solving abnormal incidents.

Then, Ja Ha, the head of the previous generation’s hwarang, the man who killed a great evil spirit eight years prior and disappeared without a trace, appeared in front of Seol Yeong…

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Elaine is ripped from this world to Pallos, a land of unlimited possibilities made real by a grand System governing classes, skills, and magic.An ideal society? What is this, a fantasy novel?Adventures? Right this way!A Grand quest? Nah.Friends and loot? Heck yes!Humans are the top dog? Nope, dinosaur food.Healing and fighting? Well, everything is trying to eat her.Join Elaine as she travels around Pallos, discovering all the wonders and mysteries of the world, trying to find a place where she belongs, hunting those elusive mangos, all while the ominous Dragoneye Moons watch her every move.

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.”