Permanent Martial Arts - Chapter 1768 Chiliocosm Sovereigns, Do You Think You Can Defeat Me For Certain?

Tian Han was a young boy who admired immortals. His dream had always been to become like them—flying on swords, using spells. But he was just an ordinary village boy, and he didn't have much of a chance for that. So, he always read books about immortals, and his admiration for them grew more and more every day. One day, he heard that he had a chance to become an immortal.“You can become immortal.”This was the sentence where his adventure began. Yes, he could become an immortal. And so, his journey started, and he found himself in the ruthless world of immortals.

A millennium had passed, and everything had lost its meaning in his eyes. Many heroes emerged from generation to generation, but he stood the test of time. That was his life, waiting for someone to come along and defeat him, but no one did. Nobody dared. Nobody tried.How can he allow this to happen? With the aid of his magic, he rose from his throne and set out into another world in search of excitement and, perhaps, a worthwhile adventure.What would happen if this last boss decided to venture into the human world for fun?

Enemy of the world, cursed by all, Kim Sungchul goes on a quest to prevent the ‘prophecy of the end’ from coming to pass.

But no matter how much he raised his strength, there were still some things he could not achieve with physical strength alone.

Resolving to obtain the power of magic, he goes into hiding to learn magic from his most hated of enemies, The Mages.

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.”