Lord Xue Ying - Chapter 1301: Trembling Heart and Weakening Legs

In a world where life energy fuels martial prowess, Shen Yifan, with a mere mortal lifespan of a hundred years, finds solace in slaying demons to extend his own vitality. Amidst the chaos of a realm teeming with malevolence, he brandishes his blade, striking terror into the hearts of creatures who have roamed the earth for centuries! Yet, amidst his valiant exploits, Shen Yifan sometimes ponders, why does his lifespan seem to dwindle faster with each use of his powers? Sheathing his sword, he gazes skyward, hearing tales of the divine palace in the heavens, where immortal beings dwell, having weathered endless eons. Embarking on a celestial journey, he seeks to beseech the gods for a loan of a million years, to pave his path towards eternal life.

When a glowing portal yanks Leo from his struggling existence, he is saved by a mysterious system which gifts him new chance to break free from his side character experienceRebuilding an abandoned guild to honor his family’s legacy, Leo finds himself under the evil eyes of monsters, both from humanity and the gates he ventures intoin short : overpowered necromancer building a guild.

I lived like any ordinary person when a stranger suddenly approached me, “You are… a hero.”

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.”