MTL - I’m the City Lord of the Last Days - Chapter 65

The simulation is over, and the entry is obtained: a showdown!

Looking at this entry, Zhao Meng was stunned.

“How should this term be used?”

“Hey! Here’s a wounded fox!”

…

A few years later, a woman who looked like a fairy appeared in front of him, and said:

“My lord, I’m here to repay my favor!”

This book is also called “Starting from Transforming Monsters”

- Description from novelbuddy

“Players are welcome to board the special train for the Dimension Crack game. This train will go from the E-level departure station to the D-level station. Please ensure that your life is safe and orderly get on the train and abide by the rules of the ride.”

“Ride rules are as follows:”

“1. Please do not bring non-game items on the train. (Except underwear)”

“2. Must consume. (The train staff are all working without pay)”

“3. Do not turn on the lights after turning off the lights. (Except for those who are daring and talented)”

“In addition, the train encourages a variety of leisure methods such as sneak attacks, fights, and hunting. Players are invited to choose at will.”

“I wish you a pleasant journey.”

- 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.”