Path of Alchemy Mastery - Chapter 447 - 460: Team Battle

After an unexpected accident, An Luo was reborn as the young master of a business family. Even as his grandfather’s favored grandson, he seems to only be a cannon fodder in the brothers’ struggle to seize power. However, the most frightening thing is… the strange emotions that flicker in his little brother’s eyes as he looks at him. At that moment, overwhelmed by his brother, An Luo angrily thought: Could it be that he is doomed to never escape this vicious cycle of “brotherly love”?

An Luo(frowning): After rebirth, I don’t want to be together with some strange person.

Someone(suddenly appearing in the back, smiling): What did older brother just say?

An Luo: …Nothing.

- Description from Novelupdates

“I shall not yield to fate nor destiny. I will create my legacy.” Yang Wei said as he stared at the clear blue sky.

Yang Wei, a mortal who has no background or power to become a cultivator except for his undying determination. An unwillingness to accept his fate as he will break away the chain that casts him behind.

In a world where spiritual qi exists, humans can utilize this power to cultivate and become a legend themselves. However, the path itself is gruesome and achieved through multiple obstacles.

Now it’s the time for Yang Wei to achieve something that no other predecessor has done in the past.

A young juvenile’s dantian was sealed since childhood. He can learn all elementary laws and master all martial art techniques. Various Kings strive to reach the heavens, new warlords rise together simultaneously, great races stand with thousands of numbers. From the moment that youth awakens, Everyone will shiver in his presence…….Humans unfair to ME, millions of corpses on the ground.

HEAVEN IS AGAINST ME , MY FURY WILL BURN THE HEAVEN ITSELF…….

- 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.”