MTL - The Growth of the Richest Man - Chapter 213 Duobao Mall closed down

“How long has it been?”10,000,000 Years, a period of time which he dwelled in the endless abyss as a captive of war.After his fall, he lost everything to the hands of those who stand above the heavens.The twelve gods of the constellations, the Primal Zodiacs!Creatures who descended down from the absolute light to consume all.He fought against them only to fall prey to their destruction, locked away in the endless Abyss.Astroth Vermont lost it all, his will, his empire, his powers and his mind, all he knew was despair.But that’s until he woke up, Returning back to the world as someone else.The Blackest Evil was reincarnated as the Tenth Young Master of the Reinhart Family.His return is going to shape the world, returning all into chaos!Will he exact his revenge?Who knows, welcome to the land of carnage

What got summoned was the world’s strongest sociopath.

Within the dream of the dreamer, the one who was dreamed of awoke.

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.”