MTL - Super Urban Master - v11 Chapter 353 Acknowledge the Lord

To correct the mistakes of his past, a young man is forced to narrow the space between science and witchcraft, as he ventures on a quest to save his world from complete destruction.

In the world of dragons and snakes, the talented but congenitally sick martial arts master was reborn as the sole heir of the 19th-century Canadian manor owner. He thought he would make money by practicing boxing, but he took advantage of the industrial revolution to become a giant of the times. The opened template.

In the end, the original owner was a hopelessly sick and consumptive ghost! I am still a bastard having an affair with a gardener…

Wait, what’s up with the claw?

James Howlett looked at the bone claws protruding from between his fingers, and became more and more worried about his future.

- Description from novelbuddy

This novel is also known as The Silent Cherry And Plum Blossoms

This is an age-gap story. Bai Fumei Gentle Royal Sister & Ruan Meng Xueba Girl HE Xiang

Tao Anzhi: Yanxi, do you love me?
Yan Xi: Tao Tao, of course I love you.
Tao Anzhi: So do you like me?
Yan Xi: Tao Tao… I can’t…

Content tags: A match made in heaven
Protagonist: Yan Xi, Tao Anzhi ┃ Supporting roles: Gao Jiming, Liao Chengyu, Xu Jiaer, Yang Mengmeng ┃ Others: cultivation, age difference

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”