The Romance Of Mr. Walton - Chapter 637

At age 23, Liam Sanders had tasted everything life had to throw at him. As an orphan at birth and a victim of the system, he lived his life believing that he was just an ordinary person. His life was filled with misery, but there was one ray of hope in his life- his girlfriend.That lasted until he found her cheating on him in the middle of his apartment with his best friend. Feeling betrayed, Liam sought to end it all by taking his life, and just as planned, he got hit by the truck in the middle of the busy street.It should have been Liam’s end, but for some reason, he survived and woke up three days after in a hospital with no injuries and a whole new set of memories in his mind.And that is how he became the Immortal Warlock in the Modern World.He was oppressed once, and now, it is time for Liam to oppress everyone in the world.

The antique market that is filled with treasures and trash.

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.”