MTL - Spirit Walker - Chapter 175 Cousin's promotion troubles

In an unexpected accident, Davis Allen had lost his legs, his freedom and his position as the heir of the Allen family. His life became lonely and frozen but a forced union With Jessica Brown became a turning point.... Jessica Brown, an unloved and unwanted daughter is traded to marry a crippled in place of her half sister and the future of the company while the perpetrators' will have to sit back and enjoy the glory....Why should it be so? Why does she have to bear the suffering when she is the elusive Doctor Sica, the famous Lady Bright and the unparalleled stock god ...

A young surgeon, who is struck by a system, embarks on a bizarre journey of life.

It was just like any other day, or so I thought at least. The birds were chirping up on trees, clouds were rolling by the bright blue sky and Elves were dumpster diving in the alleyway.

Okay, one of those three didn’t sound right...

I had a boring life once. Recently though, it has become less boring... to put it one way.

Finding a random Elf in the dumpster? Heh, must be a Monday.

A normal person would have walked by. A normal person would have ignored it.

I must be a pretty weird guy, then.

Now I have this Elf swearing her allegiance to me. What’s next, vampires?

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.”