MTL - Farming, Learning Martial Arts, and Peace In the World (Farming And Learning Martial Arts To Bring Peace) - Chapter 92 call the chicken

In the Wild Westlands, the Sanctuary of Spirits is the base for the elite Celestial Beast Sect. “”Hurry, Huang Yingyan, or we’ll lose our chance at the best Divine Pets!”” Tang Jinghuan urges, pulling his friend in a time-critical dash.Huang Yingyan, who overslept from the thrill of gaining a mysterious system and the Omniscient Eye skill, falsely blames his delay on Tang Jinghuan. This skill lets him see the untapped potential in divine pets, essential for aspiring Beastmasters.In their excitement, they reach the selection, where Huang Yingyan’s skill initially finds no special pets—until a unique, snow-white cub draws his attention, neither tiger nor lion, with a somber air.As they face their choices, anticipation hangs thick. Can Huang Yingyan’s skill reveal the cub’s mystery, changing his destiny as a Beastmaster?

She was the head of a powerful, medicine-orientated aristocratic family.

Crossing through a millennium, she ended up in the body of the General Household’s “trash” young miss, whose engagement with the Crown Prince was just broken as she suffered under everybody’s taunts!

In the drafting feast, she was re-engaged by the Emperor to marry the famous disabled prince!

Everybody laughed, a blind trash with a disabled wastrel. What a perfect match!

However, they didn’t know that in her hand, she grasped the long-lost primordial pill recipes! Her practice in medicine had reached the apex! Her contracted beasts were unique in the world!

What was the most frightening, was the disabled prince she was engaged to…….

A black-belly full of dirty tricks, with a heaven-opposing cultivation physique, he defeats all geniuses!

In his wheelchair during the day, yet entangling her in bed as he trained his waist muscles… MF! Is he really crippled!?

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.”

The summer I was 17. A painting I created was sold. For 1.4 billion won.