MTL - Cultivating From Obtaining Experience - Chapter 318 bloody

An intoxicated An Xiaoyu boldly places her hands on her hips: “Hey, handsome, this girl is here to rob you. This road is opened by me, this tree is planted by me, if you want to cross, leave some toll money!”The man approaches aggressively, trapping An Xiaoyu against the wall with no escape.He whispers in her ear: “Money, I have none. How about offering yourself instead?”An Xiaoyu is completely dumbfounded.She just accidentally robbed the wrong person, and now he's haunting her?What? He wants her to take responsibility?“Handsome, a forced melon is not sweet!”“No worries, I like bitter melons!”“You, shameless!”“Can't have a wife with too much pride!”“……”An Xiaoyu: “God, please let me go!”Ahem, 1v1 sweet romance + love over time, guaranteed to make you laugh until you have abs!

In an era when the power of Fire Magic was considered to have reached its limit, one girl began researching nuclear fusion.

Red-Outlaw follows the story of Yokais that are in the Race to become the next King as the Late king died. The story folds many deep mysterious, arcs and Adventure of Yokais and who will become the next Yokai King.

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.”