MTL - She Become Sweet and Cuddly - Chapter 41

The daughter of a duke, the stuttering Maximilian, married a knight of lowly status at her father’s coercion.

“Black Myth: The Destined One” the mobile game, sent Li Ping'an back to the Journey to the West World where deities and Buddhas had perished, demons roamed freely, and the Three Realms had collapsed. The longer he survived, the stronger he became.Cultivation, Divine Skills, Side Techniques, Magical Treasures... and the like were obtained from the game and could even be taken back to the real world.Black Bear Spirit Bodhisattva, Shadowy Moon Demon Lord, Howling Celestial Dog, Hundred Eyes Demon Lord Bodhisattva, King Huang Feng Bodhisattva, Old Buddha Huang Mei... One after another, those claiming to be immortals, Bodhisattvas, and Buddha Ancestors fell beneath his staff.Only after he had acquired wealth and status in the real world through the Cultivation, Divine Skills, Side Techniques, and Magical Treasures obtained from the game, did he realize that the real world was nothing more than the Nineteenth Layer of Hell in the Journey to the West World...With an undying heart, at ease and carefree, the Destined One Li Ping'an embarked on Journey to the West once more!

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.”