Loved By a Vampire King - Chapter 441 - Dark Mind

“My name is Zeon, and my weapon is the entire desert.”

The Earth underwent terraforming. As a result, the oceans evaporated, and the land transformed into sand.

On the desertified Earth, Zeon became the sole Sand Mage.

The world named him the Sand Ghost.

Ye Chen transmigrated into the world of cultivation and became the Saint Master of a Sacred Land. However, he discovered that the Heavenly Origin Sacred Land’s source of income took a big hit, and their finances were in the red. The Sacred Land is basically on the brink of bankruptcy.And so, Ye Chen invented the mobile phone for the cultivation world, causing a sensation throughout the realm. And this was only the beginning!Foundation Establishment cultivators delivering packages on their swords.Qi Refinement cultivators attending online classes from the comfort of their homes.The three major Sacred Lands all opening online shops!And a legendary Saintess becoming the queen of live streaming!All these changes started on the day the cultivation world’s version of a mobile phone was released!

Back to the end of Ming Dynasty, he was reduced to a slave.

This emperor, a beggar can do it, a slave can do it, a bandit can do it, but a house slave can’t do it?

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”