MTL - Lost In Azeroth - Chapter 410 desert king

Li Yiyi never expected to be chosen by fate, being suddenly ripped from the modern times to the ancient times. It wasn’t a full-body transmigration, just a soul transfer. Heaven must have thought it would be too exhausting to send everything over, so only the essence got transferred.In ancient times, Li Yiyi became Li Suniang, a newly widowed woman with a young child. While technology in ancient times wasn’t advanced, the air was fresh and there was no need to worry about pollutants. All the food was purely organic with no pesticide residue or concerns about genetically modified ingredients.It was often said that widows attracted trouble, and sure enough, this young widow caught the eye of a scarred man in the village. Despite his fierce appearance, he turned out to be a gentle person. In the end, the scarred man married the widow and, together with her child, and they began a life filled with mutual support and raising a family.

Let go of the need to help others and respect the fate of others!

Those protagonists don’t need help.

It’s not easy to travel through time once, except for some uneasy feelings, the rest is to experience some famous scenes, eat melons, watch movies and complain.

And of course…

Famous sword, fine wine, and a peerless beauty!

- 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.”