Master Bai! This Celestial Fox Spirit Is Asking For Divorce - Chapter 132: Episode 11.11 Grill Him Thoroughly

Yang Qizhou unexpectedly obtained a text-based role-playing game called 【Deceit World】 and discovered that the rewards he received in the game could be brought into reality, and various bizarre events also began to unfold in the real world.In the era of ancient earth, ancient god sacrifices, the return of the old gods, strangeness rises, horror rampages, the unknown and the mysterious coexist, distortion and evil thrive, the sun cannot be directly viewed, the night cannot last long, dreams involve calamity, and the river of death holds terror... This is an era where even deities can fall, and even the sky can decay.Yang Qizhou obtained the 'Blasphemous Dark Crow' and, relying on the ability to restart fate, embarked on the path to become the 'Master of Blasphemy'.

The eldest son of the assassin aristocrat Tuatha Dé.

The skill, experience, knowledge of the previous life, magic, all of which grows his power as an assassin.

Excellent assassins pass through. He was usually admired as the ideal lord, and behind it wielded a blade as an assassin aristocrat.

When the stars all over the sky open a door on the ground, the disorder of the solar terms becomes pollution, which is a disaster for the world.

Season division came into being.

At the flick of the fingers of the Lixia Commander, thunder and punishment fell from the sky!

Tomb-sweeping Day ordered the master to kneel in front of the grave, and my ancestors saved me!

…

- 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.”