Cult of the Sacred Runes - Chapter 42 – Master Yi

“Junior Brother Qin, do you want a wife or not?” A well-meaning senior martial brother of Qin Changqing's brought a wife to him, and Qin Changqing had no reason to refuse.

Qin Changqing unexpectedly arrived in this world, diligently cultivated for thirty years, yet still remained useless. Well, he decided to give up his cultivation, get married, and have children. That would be great!

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The Prea gods, who saved humanity from living as slaves to other races and established the human empire, passed down their bloodline. Those who inherited their blood were born with magical talent and could become wizards. After thousands of years, the empire fell, and the world became ruled by great masters across different regions.He was a young man who grew up with his mother, never knowing who his father was. Though he possessed tremendous magical abilities, he lived as a shepherd in a rural village. Now he ventures out into the world to discover the secrets of his bloodline.

A seemingly ordinary training exercise led Chen Jian and his squad into a completely different time and space.In the post-apocalyptic world, monsters run rampant, and the surviving humans struggle to live under their terrifying claws.To fight the monsters, the living have abandoned everything.Human nature no longer exists; beastliness is the mainstream.To defeat them, one must first become them.-----------------Chen Jian was supposed to be like the others here, pursuing the maddening evolution.But, when the tungsten-core armor-piercing round first penetrated the Kui Niu's keratin armor, he suddenly discovered...Perhaps there is another way to stay alive?

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.”