MTL - Rebirth: Rising Hong Kong - Chapter 115 I also like "The Condor"

Want access to uncensored character images and some exclusive nsfw art? join my discord! https://discord.gg/ZMhMj7Dawz“You know, son... It doesn't bother me that you stare at the Duke of Cadia's daughter's breasts like an idiot. They're huge, they attract attention, I understand.But did you really have the audacity to grab them in front of everyone? And then ask if she was pink while you squeeze it? Have you lost your fucking mind?”“Well... father, about that...”Ethan was a legitimate pervert, but a discreet one who didn't like to show off too much.Unfortunately, the same was not true for his system, the Great Pervert's SSS Rank Summoning System.It didn't give a damn whether he wanted to be a discreet degenerate or not.As a Golden Lord, he had the responsibility of forging a nation and ruling over large armies and millions of subjects...Unfortunately, with this damn system, being a king known for his justice and power could hardly be part of Ethan's plans.Apparently, he would need to be the Emperor of Love and Huge Tits!

“It’s finally here,” said the man with the sword in an echoing whisper.

“The Tower of Choice, the last 100 floors!” the band of five exclaimed in unison.

Angelica came down from the altar with a dull look, seemingly annoying.

Then we looked around.

“I tell you once again, but you’ve had a lot of trouble in the meantime. I couldn’t have climbed to the 100th floor alone without you.”

Thud!

One by one, they fall to the floor.

Angelica’s dagger pierced my neck, and I felt a darkening in front of my eyes with a tumultuous rage. My awareness faded, from my senses, from everything else. After that, everything was eroded by profound darkness.

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.”