Red Packet Server - Chapter 1163 - Su Yiyun’s Return

The trembling Hyuga Kuroto finally got the treasure that he dreamed of!

How exactly will the world of Naruto be perceived with his glowing Sky Blue Tenseigan Eyes.

“Master Ouyang, please smith a divine weapon for me!”

“Master Ouyang, you’re the only person who can forge a weapon with seven attributes. Please make my dream come true!”

“Master Ouyang, could you…”

“Ouyang my *ss! My surname is Ou!”

Ou Yangming was an orphan who was adopted by a reputable old blacksmith from a military camp. After working as a helper under the old man for years, he was given a chance to acquire the Military Fire—a trait allowing him to smith and restore equipment with the Military Fire produced from his hands.

Gifted with mental power, Ou Yangming controlled his Military Fire unusually well and was also strangely talented in martial arts. On top of it, he could also attach Unique Attributes into weapons with a hundred-percent success rate. Those who belittled Ou Yangming because of his background and age eventually honored him so much that they would do anything to get their hands on his equipment.

Little did Ou Yangming know that as he slowly unfolded the mysteries of the Military Fire and his mental power, he was advancing step by step on the immortal path to Heaven!

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.”