MTL - World Controlling God - Chapter 407 How is my life based on my life?

Reborn in 2004, facing the age where pigs can be blown up, Lin Xuan, carrying the “Strongest Cottage King System”, started galloping…

- Description from novelbuddy

“I already have a child with another man.”

It was a lie made in order to refuse the proposal of the leader of the most feared mercenary company in the entire country. But his response was unexpected.

“It doesn’t matter who the child is. Just birth it.”

She couldn’t understand.

What could this man possibly want with the princess of a failing nation?

“I beg you, please teach me how to pick up female angels!!!”
Pleaded the twelve-winged angel.

“Teacher!! How can I fool more people into my sect?”
Asked a devil in the devil world.

“Do you know how to save the family cat that died last night?”
Someone in the sky is too embarrassed and asks me quietly.

“All the angel, all the big deity, please I am not God, I am really just a summoner….”
I said painfully.

This is the story of a poor boy and how he becomes the greatest summoner who dominates the six worlds because of an accidental acquisition of Dimension.

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”