MTL - You Don’t Understand The Pain Of Being Popular - Chapter 51 Fifty-one days [two

An RPG gamer who played the realistic VRMMORPG ‘The Amber Sword’ for years, finds himself teleported to a parallel world that resembled the game greatly. He takes on the body of an NPC who was fated to die, and with the feelings of the dying NPC and his own heartrending events in the game, he sets out to change the fate of a kingdom that was doomed to tragedy.

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A gigantic mouth appeared in the sky and swallowed the entire Earth, scattering the shattered fragments everywhere.“Welcome to the Myriad Heavenly Hunting Grounds, your talent is the Lord's Cottage.”Earthlings received the developmental ability called Lord's Cottage, beginning their struggle for survival in the Myriad Heavenly Hunting Grounds.Fang Jie, holding the initial item 'Faction Conversion Command', gently tapped on the undead faction. Starting with the undead fission talent, he could make his subordinate undead split and increase in value, and the talent could also be upgraded.

Chu Feng was transmigrated to a world of tamers, where everyone would gain their unique tamer talent at the age of 16. With the tamer talent, one could create a tamer space and form a contract with a beast.

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.”