I Can’t Be Sword God - Chapter 508

Here, only those with spiritual roots can cultivate while those with mortal roots are destined to stay mortal.

Mo Wuji only has mortal roots, but will he only remain as a mortal?

Freshman student Yang Dingtian possesses the Nine Yang Body, found only 1 in million. His Yang Fire is incomparably vigorous and thus, he cannot be near a female’s charms for his entire life. On the night of his 19th birthday, he decided to bid farewell to his virgin life. After stealing and tasting the forbidden fruit, he spontaneously combusted as the result!

Xiang Ye (Ah Ye) and Charles have the fated arrangement of master and servant. In the depths of darkness, Ah Ye scooped up Charles – a vampire butler. Possessing a fervid passion for service, Charles single-mindedly attends to the secretive young master Ah Ye – regardless of his ferocious appetite, abhorrent taste in clothing, and relationship failings – for the master is always right.

On the other hand, in the chaotic era of scientifically enhanced humans, powerful heroes become the protectors of normal citizens, going where evil needs subduing. This young master may be secretive, but he is our hero.

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.”