MTL - My Wife Is A Princess - v2 Chapter 117 Indigenous attitude

Mo Han was in a tough spot. His daughter, Chen Chen, needed a lot of money, three hundred thousand, for an operation to treat her leukemia.He didn't have the cash and didn't know what to do. So, he tried to come up with some sneaky plans near a bar, hoping to raise the money that way. But things went from bad to worse when an old classmate who had rejected him in college caught him red-handed. She made fun of him and made him feel even worse.When Mo Han's wife, Luo Ning, found out about the situation, she rushed over with Zhang Hao, who had a crush on her. But instead of helping, Luo Ning shocked Mo Han by suggesting they get a divorce! And just like that, she left with Zhang Hao in a car, leaving Mo Han feeling alone and confused.After a night of heavy rain, something amazing happened to Mo Han. He unexpectedly inherited something really special from someone called Ye Lingfeng, a fallen medical expert. From that moment on, Mo Han's life took a turn. He decided to take charge of his own destiny and set out to change the world, no matter what challenges came his way.

He died because he could not kill ‘him’.

He lived because he could not kill ‘him’.

Kang Yoonsoo, who had lived 999 lives by losing to the Demon Emperor.

Once again, he went back twenty years in time, back to his starting point.

“I will end this.”

Either he dies, or ‘he’ dies.

The thousandth life of a man who has mastered all the skills in the world begins.

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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.”

It began with an accident, or maybe a miracle is a better term. Three souls dying by different strokes. One died in glory and blood; One died, betrayed but glad it was over; One died poor and alone. Then on the child’s fifth birthday, the three sleeping souls awakened. Three souls, one body, two desires, and containing all the powers each had in their last life. Were they destined for greatness? No. But when the past comes to haunt them, their home taken away, they have to make a decision… May it be as simple as a majority vote.“Let’s squash them!”“...can we just run away?“Were you never taught to aim for the eyes?”