MTL - Cultivating to Become a Great Celestial - Chapter 193 : Motogen

The grand master of Shape-Will Fist, Ning Wufeng, was brought to the Divine Land Continent by a mysterious scroll. In this world, he was an abandoned child and appointed by his family as inferior leader of a small fishing village because he was unable to open up his Spirits Aperture and begin his cultivation.

However, he seemed destined to open up his abandoned with the memories of previous life integrating into his mind. And the scroll guided Ning Wufeng into a vast mysterious hidden world where he was bestowed divine weapons and acquired supreme skills of cultivation.

Deafening thunder indicated the immense changes in the movement of winds and clouds. In a world where people worshiped martial arts, how could the teenage loser be the master of his own destiny? How could he wield his power to control the world, making gods and demons tremble with fear?

- Description from Novelupdates

I fell into a wannabe murim.But apparently martial arts is supposed to be difficult?Hm… Is it really that bad?

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.”