MTL - Transmigrated into a Beast Tribe - Chapter 52

Li Daoxuan received a strange scenic box.Inside the box, there was an ancient village, and a group of plastic figures, holding swords and knives, hacking and slashing through the village.He bent his finger and flicked it towards a most conspicuous figure…Late in the Ming Dynasty, in Shaanxi, there was a great drought in the land.A gang of mountain bandits was looting, burning, killing, and plundering in the village.A poor maiden was about to be killed under a mountain bandit’s blade.Suddenly, a giant hand stretched out from the clouds, bent a finger, flicked it, and the mountain bandit was flung several dozen yards away.

Aidan was thrust into this word of death and magic against his will. He was weak, Frail and pathetic but his unyielding hardwork led him to the peak where he sits unrivaled, Now he tries to find other ways to cure his unending bordom.Netorase—Netorare—Overpowered—Harem—Elf’s—Giants—Incest—

--Warning: This story contains graphic scenes of violence and bloodshed. No one under 18 is allowed---To not get confused by the end chapters, read Fallen Chronicles first----0---Have you ever pondered the mechanisms behind the Demon King's power system? Wondered how they attain such strength at the game's outset, or why they seem to advance in levels more swiftly and efficiently than the heroes?Well... this is what our MC will discover very soon.---0---

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.”