MTL - Special Agent’s Rebirth: The Almighty Goddess of Quick Transmigration - Chapter 829 829 rebirth eight zero (12) one more

[Hardcore Host Style]Interviewing The Climbers: For the nation, we reach the summit, not yielding an inch!Interviewing The Captain: Trust us! We are professionally trained, confident, and capable of ensuring your safety!Interviewing My People, My Country: The martyrs would smile with relief; the flag will always have its successors!Interviewing the CCTV Boys, Kang, Sa, and Zhu: Knowledge brings confidence; even witty banter can be humorous!Interviewing The Bravest, Operation Mekong, Operation Red Sea, and more…I am Host Yang Fan, taking everyone on a journey to explore the stories behind the films!Feilu Novel Network reminds you: This novel and its characters are purely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Please do not imitate.

As an obscured and transparent slag gamer in the gaming world, Bai Lian Hua (White Lotus) had always been fond of those trash forum posts. Until one day: “White Lotus! Go check out the forum! 233333! You’re getting flamed!!!”

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.”