The Venerable Swordsman - Chapter 18 - Ye Xuan’s mother!

Failing at the ceremony, Ethan became a Broken Carrier, the worst and weakest of them all.In this world where abilities had to be created and found through the Patterns, Ethan had no choice but to risk everything to change his fate.“So this is my Construct?” Ethan gazed at the massive gears of his core, preparing to harness a new power.The weakest carriers could always become the strongest, all that was needed were methods, desperate and risky, just like the world itself.

Have you ever thought a monster that has a job of a summoner and a tamer

what should it call itself Monster Summoner? Monster Tamer? but he itself was a monster too

Watch as our mc travels the world as an reincarnated human who turn into a monster

Yun is a novice MMO player who equipped only unpopular skills labelled as garbage. However, soon after the official launch of the game, the NPC stopped to sell Recovery Potion. Everyone finally started to notice the importance of Support Magic and Items. And that spells trouble for Yun as well as all the support-based players. They received orders for recovery potion from endless flood of players en masse, some more aggressive players even go as far as forcing the support players to be their personal craftsman. In order to prevent this from going out of hands, all the support players grouped together to form a community to keep things in order.

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.”