MTL - Tomb Raider: Bandit Chief - Chapter 177

It was a useless ability, right till the very end. That’s what Shion thought as he was dying. Among all the tr*sh, it was the tr*shiest that could only record.

Even when the Libra family was taking his life, his ability, ‘Notepad’, could only record.

But then, with his return, the amplification of the Notepad occurred. Not only recording and storing, but also recalling memories.

All the conditions were prepared.

“My future dream is to be a guardian knight of Libra.”

Now, Shion is about to record their downfall from the closest place to his enemies.

“If I do it all over again, give me excellent physical talent, and give me excellent skills, I will definitely be like those historical NBA superstars.”

Lian Dao originally thought that the above imagination would only appear in dreams, but he didn’t expect that such a “good thing” would suddenly happen to him one day.

- 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.”

On this land of real souls, with millions of different martial art institutions, there’re so many strong fighters just like the trees in the forests.