MTL - Black Iron’s Glory - Chapter 240 Finally opened up

Synopsis: Tags: [Game-World Crossover] + [Sovereignty Farming] + [Luck Mastery] + [Undead Scourge] + [Inter-Species Conflict] + [Heroic Battles]This is a world where games have invaded reality.Every year, students turning 18 awaken to a job change.One person crossed over and became a Necromancer.Relying on a luck-based talent that made wishes come true and a legacy from Mother Earth, this person rapidly gained power.While others gambled on skill mutations, summoning variations, and the chance with endless resources,he simply needed to shake his talent and use the least resources to obtain everything.With an undead frenzy, he broke through the blockades of the other nations on Blue Star, making his empire great again.With the undead scourge, he wiped out the decayed porcine dynasties within realm territories and became the new Realm Master.In the name of the Dead Spirit Overlord, he waged war on the Battlefield of Ten Thousand Tribes and ascended to the throne of the Demon God.

Born naturally defective but possessed by the spirit of a divine dragon. Inheriting the divine dragon’s will and power, growing scales and magical claws, imperial waters containing the breath of the dragon, travelling through clouds and summoning rain, an invincible physical body. In this world and era, countless men dream of slaying dragons. Li Mu Yang has always lived a hard life.

Earth has changed and with it so has humanity.Follow Miwen as he makes use of his Gift, Gacha Kingdom Building.

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.”