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... , the Void Divine Pagoda, erupted with an extremely dazzling light.

Pieces of the already shattered pagoda began to fall.

It was as if it would completely disintegrate in the next moment.

However, the power it displayed was also unparalleled.

It was not inferior to its peak!

Space and time did not fluctuate at this moment.

The terrifying restraining power even wanted to cover the outside of the chess game.

It was stopped by the isolation ar ...

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However, the redemption team cannot designate an ID card, and they need to draw cards by luck.

Ten thousand years of non-chief Gu Miru: ….
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Gu Miru drew the ID card: the culprit who proposed to lock up the son.
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Read the guide
Sweet and sweet, humming and falling in love, and can’t eat the food to cut the leg meat type by myself, and I don’t like welcome x.
Decathlon female lead, two worlds with different male lead.
The previous copywriter Long Aotian case reopened.

Content tags: sweet text through the book cool text
Search keywords: Protagonist: Gu Miru ┃ Supporting role: ┃ Others:

- Description from novelbuddy

THE DEATH KNELLChapter 67: War of God’s and Shadows
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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.”