MTL - Poison Genius Consort 2: Emperor’s Swallow - Chapter 1085 Nantang Beicheng: Hanger

She was an illegitimate daughter in a wealthy family, with a lowly status. By chance, she discovered that her ex-boyfriend had sold her out. In order to hide, she accidentally injured him and fled in a panic. From then on, they were bound by an inextricable bond...

The once greatest Saint underneath the heavens has been reborn after one hundred years. He cultivates with mighty skills, and he fights to once again reach the top of the world!

After everything that Zaroth had was stolen from him, he decided to live solely for his desires, morals be damned!Close to his death, he resurrects and tames a mythical dragon, who turns out to be a breathtaking woman.Learning that in order to explore her body, he must grow stronger so he doesn’t die during the act, Zaroth sets a clear goal for himself: to get stronger.“But I’m curious about something.”“Hm? What is it?” Luna asked, raising an eyebrow.“You said you judged me. How did you do that? Why was I worthy?”Luna’s smile darkened, her eyes glowing with a dangerous intensity.“Despite knowing you would die, you didn’t pray to the gods. On the contrary, you declared that you would kill every single one of them like the dogs they are. In my life, you’re the only one who’s ever made such a declaration, which is why I couldn’t leave you behind—someone who dares to share my dream.”

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.”