I Raised the Beast Well - Chapter 34

People know that ghosts are terrifying, but ghosts understand the malice in human hearts.This is a traditional supernatural novel.

“I have repeatedly emphasized that the atmosphere in the world of cultivating immortals is inherently crooked. I didn’t bring it crooked. It is said that the history books are written by the victors, so why do people always frame me when I win?” Lu Yang Jianxian said in an interview with reporters. , expressing great anger.

the next day.

“I have repeatedly emphasized that the atmosphere in the world of cultivating immortals is caused by me.” Lu Yang Jianxian said in an interview with reporters, expressing his anger. ——”Xiu Xian Daily” reports for you.

- Description from novelbuddy

Someone palmed out a blue dragon, which shocked the world. Someone smashes the green hill with a fist, and thousands of people admire it.

Some people live for thousands of years, just like gods. Some people are merciful and compassionate to the world.

In this world of panic, how can there be no place for me?

(The protagonist kills decisively. If you are not a virgin, kill if you have the strength, and if you don’t have the strength, you will die.)

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”