MTL - The Old Gods Are Whispering - Chapter 318 redemption of this life

In Ten Heavens Domain, full of respected powerhouses, juvenile Ling Tian accidentally obtained a mysterious iron sword. He refined the Supreme Martial Dao, studied the Divine Spirit Array Laws, fought Ten Thousand proud and arrogant Heavenly Clans, and was undefeated! Seven Feet Sword Tip sweeps away the world, within the Ten Heavens, I am the Supreme God Monarch!

- Description from Novelupdates

In the 21st century, she was the talented leader of the hidden family clan, once she crossed over, she became the number one waste?

Break off an engagement? A good-for-nothing? Open your ​​eyes and see clearly!

This lady here can just throw you into the skies and let you be closer to the sun.

With a red fan in hand to blow the world into a whirl of chaos, carving a name for herself under the skies.

- Description from Novelupdates

Somewhere in the wilderness. As soon as Ruan Youqing cleared up the gangsters, he turned around and saw Mr. Shoufu who came behind him. Throwing away the meteor hammer he picked up casually, Ruan Youqing fell into his arms by coincidence.

Ruan Youqing looked shy: “If Master Shoufu hadn’t arrived in time, you Qing would have been in trouble.”

Ignoring the screams and wailing next to his ears, Master Shoufu who did nothing stretched out his hand to wipe off the blood on the girl’s face, Then he said without changing his face: “The world is getting worse, people’s hearts are not old. Miss Ruan still has to be careful in the future, after all…you are too weak.”

The gangsters: “…???”

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”