MTL - Wanderer of Myriad Worlds - Chapter 1585 replace

Two years ago, the mere fifteen-year-old scion of the Lin family, in front of the colossal behemoth that is the Murong clan, made a vow!Two years later, no one knows what he has gone through, but from the moment of his return, he radiates a brilliance that seems to compete with heaven and earth!(Note: The protagonist of this book is very aloof, cold, and passionate. Those who like to read about a military king's ambiguous romances and flirts, please bypass this one.)

Reborn in the world of Naruto, Otis is granted a single “Legendary Skill”: Throwing. No chakra beasts. No kekkei genkai. Just the art of hurling things... perfectly. Now a towering five-year-old in Konoha, Otis must survive a ninja world that laughs at his gift — until they see what a true master of throwing can do.------------------------------------------Disclaimer:This is a fan fiction inspired by Naruto by Masashi Kishimoto. All rights belong to their original owners. No copyright infringement intended. For concerns, contact me and I’ll take it down.------------------------------------------(A/N):This Fanfiction is written by me.This is not a translation or adaptation.I upload on Webnovel, Royal Road, and Scribble Hub only------------------------------------------Want to read ahead?Join my Patreonpatreon.com/pacifist01https://discord.gg/SeF8utGspM

The youngest Wiseman of the continent, Chu Tian, has traveled 30,000 years back in time to the age of antiquity due to an accident.

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.”