MTL - Under the Tutelage of the Golden Lion: The Beginning of the Overlord - Chapter 51

Chen Chao dreamt of becoming a powerful immortal cultivator, flying on his sword and vanquishing enemies with daoist magic. His hopes were dashed when he discovered that he had absolutely no talent for immortal cultivation.

Refusing to submit to his fate, Chen Chao joined the ranks of countless other talentless martial artists and embarked on the path of martial cultivation, a path scorned by the immortal cultivators.

In this era of strife where martial cultivators, immortal cultivators, and demonic cultivators wrestled for hegemony, Chen Chao will either rise to the top or fall into eternal damnation.

If someone told Shen Jin before that zombies can wipe out human beings,

Shen Jin would definitely scoff: “Give me an artillery company and I can clean up a city!”

However, when the zombie virus came without warning, the hot weapon most relied on by human beings could not be fired for some reason.

The real horror comes…  

It’s getting dark, the internet is going to be cut off

Shen Jin hid in the basement, shivering, and the fingers on the keyboard were no longer fast.

Sudden! A light flashed!

“Huh? My World Support System… System!?”

“Ah this!”

So Shen Jin believed that as long as I didn’t go out, I was the perfect undefeated God of War.

Start your own doomsday fat house life

“The first step… just smash it a hundred trees!”

[Serious non-driving group: 869543467, welcome sand sculpture (crossed out) cute book friends to add group chat to urge more]

- Description from novelbuddy

We’ve come to a world where the roles of men and women have been reversed. So, of course, women will rush to us. “You don’t have to bring water.” “Oh, okay…” …I guess I’ll just have to live the way I always have.

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.”