MTL - Protect Our Patriarch - v7 Chapter 44 Heaven-defying technique! Wang Baosheng's "Fatal Moment"

Dual Cultivation is an art. The more you focus on doing the art, the worse it becomes. Only when doing it becomes part of the art itself, does one truly experience it to its fullest.

Finding himself in an Last Airbender without an airbender around, a transmigrator waterbender goes on an adventure to stop the worst from happening to him.

The strongest man of the cultivation world, Yu Hua had sent the Grand Supreme Elderly Lord, Chi Hou to cultivate. After cultivating, Chi Hou was unrivaled for hundreds of thousands of years. However, he was ridiculed by the Demon Lord to be a bachelor who is as old as bone ashes and a fossil grade single dog. Not to even mention a girl, he doesn’t even have a little sister. In order to reverse the game, Chi Hou decided to kidnap the Demon Lord’s precious sister and turn her into his own little sister. He’ll first save her, then raise her, teach her magic, feed her dinner, tell her bedtime stories, and give her rare treasures. Like this, he’ll be the perfect brother. She won’t even remember her real brother.

Little sister: “What does this pervert who pulls me up every night to tell me ghost stories want to do? Cultivating to become a celestial is too hard, I want to go back to Earth!”

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”