Advent of the Archmage - Chapter 18: The Power of Supreme Magical Skills!

I am the sword.
Killing a man amidst a thousand miles, no one dares take ten steps.
Killing a man amidst a thousand miles, no one can take ten steps.
Killing a man amidst a thousand miles, ten steps? Not possible!
I am the sword, the sword is me,
On the path towards heaven, each shall wield their own.

One day, a villainess came to the orphanage.“I absolutely can’t stand children!”“How can someone my age have a child? It doesn’t make sense!”“What’s so great about these little creatures that tire you out all day long…”Setting aside her dislike for children…Somehow, after she arrived, the children started gaining weight.“It’s all because of the contract, you know?”That’s what she says.While personally feeding them sweets she made herself.

The young Pang Jian was forced to ascend to the heavens.……ps: This is Ni Cangtian's new work after “God Of Slaughter” and “Spirit Realm”.

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.”