The Supreme Martial King Shocking All Realms - Chapter 972 - 969 You Call This a Genius_1

Anyone who could construct a stable Spell Model could become a Wizard — that was the Wizards’ ultimate secret! Having been given a new life as the son of an aristocrat and armed with a super quantum computer from his past life, Spell Models came as easily as breathing to Merlin. With this overwhelmingly huge advantage, would Merlin become the greatest Grand Wizard of all time?

- Description from Novelupdates

Ding! Congratulations, received 7 billion red envelopes!

Ding! Congratulations, you have received 50 million yuan.

Ding! Congratulations, you have won a Lamborghini Daniel.

Ding! Congratulations, you have obtained 51% of the shares of a listed company.

Ding! Congratulations, you have obtained a first-grade building from Tomson.

Ding! Congratulations, get the skill fighting king.

Ding! Congratulations, you have acquired the skill Tian Lai Singing Voice.

…… ……

Lin Fan: 7 billion red envelopes? When should I order?

Street reporter: How long can you earn 1 million?

Lin Fan:…

Street reporter: Why do you keep blinking?

Lin Fan: Didn’t you ask me how long it takes to earn 1 million?

PS: Welcome to read my book “Super Red Envelope Fairy Group” and “The Heavens Red Envelope Chat Group”.

In a morgue filled with the bodies of Uchiha clan members, he opened his eyes...A mysterious voice echoed in his ears...With a bewildered expression, he muttered, “Save the Shinobi world? What does that have to do with me, a mere Uchiha survivor?”

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.”