MTL - Stepmother - Chapter 175 self-awareness

220 years ago, in the legendary Dragon Demon War, Hero Azell ended the war by killing the evil Dragon Demon race’s King Atein. He was able to save the population, but as a consequence, he was cursed. While he was dying, the high magician suggested a gamble that might save his life.

On doomsday, Tang Yu unexpectedly got the Lord of the End System, he remained very calm.

Lack of experts? I will construct a pub so I can make ten draws in a row;

Lack of food? I can’t be too cheap with the large pack full of food supplies sent from the market;

Lack of safety? Arrow Tower, Mage Tower Artillery and all kinds of automatic defence buildings. Having many isn’t too many;

Lack of equipment? Workshop production must produce high-quality items. Sir, would you like one? We are having a 20% discount special at nine!

…………

In short, this is a story of Great Lord Tang building up his territory, attacking some monsters, and ripping off…… Cough, making some money at the same time.

Michael Alastair never mattered. In a world where strength was everything, he was nothing—just another powerless kid, easy to break and easier to forget. When his tormentors finally took things too far, his story should have ended in that alley, bleeding and alone.But fate had other plans.In the void between life and death, a voice spoke. Cold. Sharp. Amused. [NEW TALENT UNLOCKED: WRITER’S LEGACY]. A system unlike any other—sarcastic, relentless, and strangely invested—offered Michael a power beyond reason and a purpose he never imagined. Now, armed with an SSS-rank ability and a mission to rise, he’s back. And this time, he won’t just survive—he’ll rewrite the rules.

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.”