MTL - I Built a Territory in Ancient Times - Chapter 172 Festival

[Mortal Stream, Family Stream, Farming Stream, Beast Taming Stream, No System]An office worker suddenly found his soul transmigrated to another world, becoming a disciple of a Beast Taming Cultivation family.The story begins with a Cultivation family known as the Zhou Family of Spirit Beasts……

3000 years after his disappearance, Xue An had undergone cultivation and came back as an invincible fairy. But upon his return to Earth, he realised that he had a pair of twin daughters.

“Papa, this dragon doesn’t taste good!”

“Oh, this must be an ancestor-grade dragon that has lived for much too long. Its meat has become a little dry. Next time, we shall eat a young dragon within ten thousand years of age.”

Some dragon that had existed since the beginning of the universe was lying on the floor, trembling and shivering.

“Papa, between you and the other Immortal-emperor mannies, who is more powerful?”

Xue An smiled. There was not a single soul that could withstand even just one blow from him. If there was! That would at most be two!

“My dear daughters, I will make you girls the happiest princesses in this whole, wide world. No, in this whole universe! And it’s the two of you!”

In North America, there are many paths to power and wealth. Hawke plunged into Los Angeles and chose the entertainment and media industry. The media is like the sun, not only showing the bright side. Every word and every picture that appears in the media is carefully designed to guide public opinion and manipulate the public.Unofficial translation of 洛杉矶之狼 by 白色十三号

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.”