Dual Cultivator Reborn [System In The Cultivation World] - Chapter 937 madness

Weiss is an ordinary young man caught in the changing times who is studying magic from an unknown natural event. When he feels weak and helpless in facing a world that is constantly changing and filled with magic, he awakens his secret ability, the “Maid Order”. Special abilities that make him a “Master” who will be respected by the “Maids” who are loyal to him.

Listen here, because I've seen it with my very own eyes.William Oh was born on the hundredth floor of The Tower, to the greatest Climbers of the ancient world, steeped in the Tower's lethal miasma from the moment he drew breath, giving him strange and unnatural powers.They say he is an immortal being who circles the dreams of mortal men, resurfacing wherever the need is greatest. Those who disparage him will fall into despair, but if you're a Climber in a tight scrape, look to the sky and say a little prayer.Maybe he will appear?Odds are probably better if you pay for my drink.- Rumor overheard on a 1st Floor Tavern. Originator did not pay his tab.

“Why aim for a world when I can conquer the entire universe?”Draco Valenstein was the kindest human alive, a young man full of ambitions. One day, by some unknown means, he died. Not knowing how or what happened, he was granted 3 wishes before transmigration.In such an unforgiving world brimming with powerhouses, kindness was a weakness. But for Draco, who had been reborn as a demon, such a past was long gone.Evil is the only way!

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.”