MTL - Great Voyage: the Strongest Clone System - Chapter 216

Liam Sera Banfield is a reincarnator.

Li Xiao Yao left S.W.A.T to become an ordinary security guard. While working, he happened to enter the VIP room and found Lin Wang Er still in the middle of changing. As revenge, she took him on a ride and kicked him out of the car.

After hours of walking, Li Xiao Yao finally managed to get back home just to be kicked out of the house. He then got an offer from his previous supervisor to become the bodyguard of the Tian Xi group CEO’s daughter both in game and in reality. But unknown to Li Xiao Yao the girl was actually…

A muffled murmur sounded softly,

Crazy goblins ravage the village,

Mutated beasts roam the fields,

The ancient old gods are gradually awakening,

Just when the darkness is about to engulf the entire continent,

A brave man from another world quietly appeared,

This may be the darkest hour before dawn.

Human: “The savior has come?”

Monster: “Have new food arrived?”

Till the fame of the brave spread far and wide,

Walking through every corner of the continent,

He/she/they know,

What is the real darkest hour.

The monsters and humans said in unison:

“I beg you to be human, the ancient gods were so scared that they went back to sleep.”

- 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.”