MTL - The Universe’s Number One Healing Baby - Chapter 184

Hey? Why is there a HP Bar and a Title above your head? Why do you know magic? Hey, why are there people slashing their swords at me!? What’s wrong with this world? Why is it so much like an RPG!? HEY!!

Luo Fei does not fear being rivals in love with Xi Yanqing; what he fears is that they have transmigrated to ancient times and become betrothed to each other!

Father Luo: Eh?! Not getting married? How about I break your legs if you don’t get married?!

Luo Fei: Dad, ahh, Dad! Aiyo, stop beating me now! I’ll just go get married okay?

Xi Yanqing: You know that you can’t escape and now you’ll have to pay for it. Did you leave without bringing your IQ?

Luo Fei: You with the surname Xi doesn’t have to sleep on the bed on the wedding night!

Xi Yanqing: Oh.

Luo Fei Who on His Wedding Night was Pressed to the Trunk of a Peach Tree at the Entrance: …f**k you surnamed Xi! This isn’t what I meant!!!

- Description from Novelupdates

The Nine Tribulations Immortal Venerable is reborn in the city, sweeping away contemporary enemies.In front of me, brothers stand. Enemies kneel. Foes lie down.Women, any pose is OK.

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.”