PORTAL BEAST SLAYER - Chapter 70: Sword In The Stone

Yohan wakes up ten years in the past, back when he still lived with his uncle and hadn’t yet lost his parents’ massage parlour. With a strange book filled with wellness techniques in his hands, he decides to live differently this time—more aware, more purposeful, and maybe even more fulfilled.

Ye Xuan was transmigrated to the Qingyun Sect and became the youngest elder. At the same time, he had also received the 10000x Disciple Cashback System.

From a young maid to a previous noble lady and the demonic empress, he accepted all of them as his disciples.

No matter what he gifted and taught his disciples, he would receive the same thing back in 10000 folds.

“Ding! You have given your disciple a low-grade Nirvana Pill. You have been rewarded with the Heaven Path Pill.”

“Ding! You have given your disciple the Sky Blazing Sword. You have been rewarded with the ancient divine sword, God Slayer.”

“Ding! Your disciple’s cultivation has increased by a year. You have been rewarded with 10000 years worth of cultivation.”

Ye Xuan continued to accept more disciples until one day, one of his disciples, the empress, exposed his identity.

It was then that the world learned of a person who was the strongest.

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.”