MTL - The Nine Godheads - Chapter 383 Got it, will you come back?

At the age of ten, Jiang Qi had black hair, shallow pupils, and a pale, delicate appearance. He often got injured, with blood flowing from his head. He was the son of a ‘notorious’ mu*derer in Chen Kong Alley, and people cursed him, saying that he had vile blood running in his veins. Except for Zhi Qi, no one paid him any attention.Zhi Qi often cried while bandaging his wounds, her voice soft as she asked, “Why do you always get hurt? Does it hurt a lot?”Jiang Qi smiled, the cold and rebellious boy appearing particularly obedient in front of her: “If you comfort me, it won’t hurt anymore.”By the time he reached high school, he had become the most famous madman, cold and ruthless in all Lin Lan. Zhi Qi remembered Jiang Qi once saying that most of his life was lived like a dog. He would rather have everyone fear him than let anyone bully him.Even though everyone feared him, Zhi Qi was not afraid.Unfortunate people spend their entire lives healing from childhood, and Zhi Qi wanted to heal Jiang Qi with her own efforts. She would make a promise to him on the rooftop of the school, where he brought her to the top: “Jiang Qi, take care. When I reach the legal age, I can marry you.”The boy’s response was a faint smile, his gaze clear and clean like the stars in the sky, filled with rare yearning for the future.Zhi Qi didn’t know that a simple promise saved Jiang Qi’s life, pulling him out of hell.Unfortunately, ‘redemption’ has an expiration date. When the clock strikes twelve for Cinderella, he remains the sick dog with nothing.A crazy boy, and all the sweet names in his obscure life are called ‘Zhi Qi’.

In this world, only if you are strong, can you protect the people you love.

It was understood that this was a capitalist country, where the possession of the greatest amount of capital determined to whom the nation effectively belonged.The smile that had been resting on William Sheffield’s face was abruptly erased as his expression turned cold. In a tone laced with determination, it was demanded by him that the police be contacted immediately so that they could crush those who stood in their way. The reasoning behind his words seemed clear: if such actions had been taken before by someone like Rockefeller, then why should it not also be possible for Sheffield?A sense of irony hung in the air as the sentiment was expressed—this was America, where each day seemed to unfold as though it were part of an ongoing shootout, with battles fought not just with guns but with power, influence, and wealth.

The Night Has Come, and kermesinus moon ascends in the sky.Hoarse whispers flow at the street corners, and brass steam machines spew out bloody mist.Your brain is singing a hymn, eyes are chanting a melody.Skin cracks, and flesh buds swell.Amidst the Mist, the wall of flesh that has devoured thousands of corpses wails endlessly—“Weep not, our players don't bite, they just want to play with you.”Annan, the lone strategist, the top player, the savior of the mist-covered continent, the leader of the Thirteen Saints, the friend of the Twelve True Gods, the king of pioneers, “the Just”, the Gatekeeper of the Fourth Calamity, the uncrowned deity, advised kindly.