Red Packet Server - Chapter 49 – The Great Sage’s Life-Saving Monkey Hair

This novel is also known as 1000 Years Later, Even My Weakest Follower Has Become A Demon King

After traveling through the game where he worked so hard to clear the level, Zhou Mu found that the whole world was stunned for some reason.

Why is the mainland united in its own name?

What’s going on with this religion in its own name?

What the hell are members of the royal family claiming to have their own bloodline? I wonder if this game doesn’t have this feature?

“What have you done in the thousand years I’ve been away!”

- Description from novelbuddy

Mysterious gates appeared all around the world a few decades ago. Beings emerged from the gates and brought disaster upon humanity. Humanity called them Demon Spirits. It wasn’t until the advent of Demon Suits and Demon Suiters that humans stood a fighting chance.For some perplexing reason, the world’s number one Demon Suiter, Li “God” Xiu abandons his identity to start over again as a newbie trial-taker. He enters the gates to participate in all sorts of trials, in a bid to seek out the reason that enticed his best friend into becoming a trial-taker.These trials weren't the run-of-the-mill dungeons, ranging from game sports (soccer, basketball, baseball, etc) to athletics. Just as fortune favors the brave, what would Li Xiu obtain on his quest?“Are you telling me he’s a greenhorn?” the other trial-takers frustratingly ask while watching Li Xiu's feats that prove why he's the number one Demon Suiter.

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.”