I Regained My Memories and Became Rich After Getting Divorced - Chapter 128 - : Found My Family

Today’s headlines –
   “The Malaysian Master has broken through nine products and fought the world!”
   “The pony master is the best, sweeping Eurasian!”
   “Joe’s helper once again, suspected of nine major masters!”
   “The god of the gods is not old, the global master list re-enters the top ten!”
   “…”
   Looking at a piece of news flashing, Fang Pingxin is so tired, this script is wrong!

- Description from 69shu.org

As a cultivation genius who has achieved a new realm every two years since he was a year old, Wang Ling is a near-invincible existence with prowess far beyond his control. But now that he’s sixteen, he faces his greatest battle yet – Senior High School. With one challenge after another popping up, his plans for a low-key high school life seem further and further away…

Transmigrated to become a disciple of the demon sect, relying on the technique modifier to become a giant of the demon path.

[Detected the technique “Blood Nerve”, relying on devouring blood to cultivate]

[Side effect: easily affected by the spirit contained in the blood, becoming bloodthirsty, murderous, insane, and even brain dead]

[Please wait, system modification is in progress…]

[Ding! Modification completed and side effects canceled]

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.”