The more they oppose, the more it shows that I am doing the right thing - Chapter 781 - 395: An Su Moningsta, You Are the Bishop of Chaos_2

Raised as nothing more than a weapon, Xin Long was kidnapped and forged into a killer — his freedom severed, his name reduced to a whisper. In a world where trust is a death wish and mercy is a myth, he treads a path of blood and betrayal, outwitting ruthless foes and surviving inhuman trials. Yet, the deeper he delves into the shadows of Jianghu, the more he unravels a web of dark secrets that bind the martial world.Step into the dark side of Jianghu and witness the so-called Forgotten Tale — a story never meant to be told...

After transmigrating to a world similar to Earth, Jiang Qiao was approached by a former goddess—Ocean Blue. As Bluestar is also on the verge of collapse from invaders of other worlds, Jiang Qiao must find a way to save this one. With the ability to create a virtual game world, he creates the world of Sacred Souls. In order for this new world to grow, it has to devour other worlds. Thus, the greediest, most cunning, and horrible beings came into existence—Players.

Polishing antiques in the basement was supposed to be a punishment. When monsters arrived, it saved Emma’s life. Now sealed inside a suit of armor old when the world was young, Emma Knight will have to master newfound powers she’d long regarded as merely myth; all whilst navigating the breakdown of society and delving through dungeons in search of the truth behind the apocalypse. How’s that for a Sworded Affair? What to expect: LitRPG, Progression, Dungeons and the Apocalypse. What not to expect: Harem, Smut, Drama or Tragedy.

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.”