MTL - Cthulhu Gonfalon - Chapter 141

Traveling to an overhead urban world where martial arts and immortal arts coexist, the only thing Lin Shen can rely on is the avatar Golden Finger.

Cultivate in avatar, the main body becomes stronger.

Clone [Pure Yang Body]: Yang attribute skills training speed +300%, Blazing Sun Palm, Melting Soldiers Hand, Qianyang Sword Art… Any Yang attribute skills can be easily mastered, and a thousand miles a day!

Clone [Natural Dao Body]: Practice speed +500%, all martial arts skills can be understood at a glance, mastered, and crushed all geniuses!

Clone [Sword God Wuwo]: The power of swordsmanship skills +200%, the speed of swordsmanship skills training +200%, let you be tyrannical, I will kill you with one sword!

 …

“You never know how many avatars are working hard behind the person chatting with you in front of you!”

“The avatar did it, what does it have to do with my body?”

“What I’m most afraid of is that others will bully the few with the more, anyway, not as many as me!”

- Description from novelbuddy

The weak cry out with all their might, yet no one cares; The strong whisper softly, yet their words penetrate deeply into the heart. A Talent Tree ablaze with flames, every leaf bearing different spirit runes, Lu Ye, reduced to a mining slave after his sect was destroyed, used this to become a cultivator and stirred the winds of change in the Nine Provinces...

The legendary mana finally reached planet Earth, causing all living things to officially enter the path of evolution.

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.”