MTL - Madam’s Identities Shocks the Entire City Again - Chapter 3785 they're on other people's land

In times of peril, the overlooked Ninth Prince, Qin Wudao, steps up to hold the collapsing empire together, commands the six armies, carries out the sealing ceremony, and establishes an era of abundant prosperity.“Ding, congratulations, the check-in system is now in place!”Once awakened, the world becomes aware, who does not recognize this sovereign?

[Special Containment Procedures]Calamity neared, and a special Containment Subject known as “Bonfire Company” awoke from its slumber, sending out invitation after invitation to join its ranks—“When The Night comes, there ought to be someone to light a fire, to illuminate in all directions.”At the same time, it also brought forth a prophecy.In the year 2044, at the end of a year, a dark disaster would descend from the heavens.

There was a time when every living thing was decimated and the galaxy was forced to restart with a single thought from the evils.“Is the final boss my wife?” Xu Chang’an exclaimed as he looked at his wife who was making dinner and shook his head. “The system must have malfunctioned again.”Under the tree in his garden, Xu Chang’an wrapped his arm around his wife’s waist and said, “There is something I have to settle outside. I’ll be back soon.”“Okay. Stay safe.” After seeing the husband off, his wife raised her head to look at the leaves and said,“I think my husband is going to cheat on me soon. Should I… just restart this world?”

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.”