MTL - I Cut Down the Troubled World Alone - Chapter 331 The most perfect evolutionary creature

Dewitt, known as the Iron Marshal, is now on the verge of death. Just when the whole empire thought he was not going to survive, a small fox came down from the sky. The little fox was so powerful that it woke up the Marshal who had been in a coma for a month with one paw. If Wen Jin knew that the price of his paw was to become the Marshal’s fiance, he would refuse, because the legendary, ferocious Marshal was a well-controlled villain, only touching his fluffy body every day.

After the final high school exams, Zheng Qing didn't go to the long-desired Imperial University. Instead, he packed his bags, hugged his fox, followed an enigmatic notice, and ventured into an unknown university.Here, there was no advanced math, English, or political philosophy; they were replaced with divination, astronomy, and the philosophy of magic.Extracurriculars here involved demon hunting,And the hobbies were curious and diverse.He would sail the sea of learning and climb the mountain of books.This bewildered young man started his tumultuous journey as a wizard.(Group created: Six Two Three Eight Five Eight Nine Three One, you're welcome to join.)

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.”