MTL - Princess too Young, Prince too Old - Chapter 1014 Sharp sword

Mortimer Zhu is an extremely unfortunate high school student who accidentally enrolls into an academy of a dubious nature, where it is the norm to jump in front of moving trains, get dismembered during orientation, and crushed by vindictive bouncing classrooms. Can he stay alive or will he die from the rigors of school? Why have evil spirits suddenly acquired a taste for his flesh?

- Description from Novelupdates

Possessing the power of the demonic path, he follows a cultivation method that absorbs the essence of heaven and earth and seizes the spirit of all beings.Yet this power invites endless enmity, shunned by the heavenly way and despised by righteous sects. His sect is destroyed, and he barely escapes with his life.By chance, he acquires a mysterious blood mirror that opens a portal to an apocalyptic world overrun by zombies.On this world, he can freely sacrifice zombies without facing divine retribution; instead, he gains boundless merit and luck!Freed from the restraints of the heavenly way, his lifespan and cultivation soar to unimaginable heights, rivaling even the heavens.True demonic cultivation is not just the pinnacle of power—it is the path to defy fate and reshape destiny!

She spent the night with the man who destroy her country, fleeing with their child in her arms. With that, she believed their relationship had come to an end. “Even if he’s another man’s child, even if he’s not of my blood, or even if he’s the child of a bastard, I’ll raise him as my own.” Until he came to her with eyes as ferocious as a beast. “Don’t even think about running away using the boy as an excuse. I’m still struggling to control the urge to crush the little creature that took you away from me.”

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.”