Summoning the Holy Sword - Chapter 68: The Lost Palace

The Card Creator is a very ordinary profession. Simply put, the incumbent seals various kinds of abilities, illusions, images and so on in blank cards for convenience of use.

(A fierce and adorable female lead VS an obsessive and sinister male lead, sweet doting + metaphysics + slight fantasy)

Jiang Xiaoxiao, the great master of the Mystic Sect, was born with an incomplete soul. Every full moon night, she would also turn into a tiny three-inch tall person.

The Grand Master said that in the sixteenth year of her life, she would meet a nobleman. The purple gold dragon aura on the nobleman’s body could lift her curse.

Xie Xun, the King of Chu, had his dragon aura taken away at the age of three. Plagued by bad luck, he was exiled from the capital.

The first time he met his adorable wife, his adorable wife shrank with a swoosh in front of him into a tiny three-inch being, standing in his palm dozing off.

Later, the King of Chu sewed a small pouch on the sleeve of each garment. When going out, he would put his adorable wife in the pouch.

And he told others, “My little one is weak, pitiful, and helpless.”

The little ghost shivered in fear: Have you seen someone using a kitchen knife to hack ghosts at a mass grave? Yes, it’s your weak, pitiful and helpless Queen!

The ghosts wailed at the mass grave: Have you seen a living person who could scare the ghosts to tears? Yes, it’s still your weak, pitiful and helpless Queen!

The entire netherworld exploded: Have you seen a newly wedded bride escorted by two Ghost Emperors and two Ghost Kings? Yes, it’s still your weak, pitiful and helpless Queen!

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.”

What happens when you really want to protect someone but feel weak?Will you let it all consumme you? Or will you fight for it.Watch as insanity consumes our main character Bael as he works his fucking body out to protect those who are dear to him.(A/N: Please show support for more!)