MTL - Grasping Evil - Chapter 995 Against the sea sword!

No sign in, no punch card.

Do not rely on breathing, do not rely on walking, do not rely on heartbeat.

The system is produced in one step

- Description from novelbuddy

Have you ever considered, what is a Limit? Well, I have. I’ve seen people who were as strong, as wild animals. Those that were faster than the wind. Some that shined with intellect. Yet, what are the Limits of mankind’s strength, or intelligence?

No one seems to know. We develop more and more, seemingly without an end. What if, someone was the smartest in the world? Would that suggest the Limit? What if, someone was the strongest in the world? Would that be the Limit? Would that make that someone, more than a Human? These are just questions, but what if I saw people reach their Limits? What if I know what happens, when you break the Limits? What if I were to tell you about it, would you believe me?
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The book is completed. The 1st volume (e-book) is available for my patreons or through amazon!
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The 51st year of Konoha was designated by later generations as “the beginning of reform in the ninja world” and “the first year of Vientiane renewal”.

Orochimaru made an indelible contribution to this.

Because he was haunted by a lamp god.

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After being guided by a traveler who became a lamp god, watch how Orochimaru harvests leeks from the ninja world and walks the road to eternal life.

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”