MTL - Exile - ~ Chapter 34

Do not betray your employer;
Do not betray your companions;
do not lie;
Rather than violate it, I would rather be silent.
These are the four laws that “The Silent One” has abided by for thousands of years.

Day and night we roamed the streets of the Yordian cities,
Dressed in Chinese clothes, wearing a mask, with a long sword on his waist and a dagger in his pocket.
We take lives and receive payment.
We are as humble as ants and as noble as kings.
We hold the power over the life and death of others.
I never cared when I died.

Content tags: Fantasy and Magic Romance of the West Revenge

Search keywords: Protagonist: Giuliano, Enzo ┃ Supporting role: Antoine ┃ Others: fantasy, fictional, assassin

- Description from novelbuddy

“I will leave the debut group.”

I can’t make it in this group. I should leave and set up a chicken restaurant so that my brothers could at least make a name for themselves.

Destined to be a failed idol, I decided to leave the group for the betterment of the others.

However,

[A member dies if you leave the debut group.]

What?

“…This is making me crazy.”

The struggles of Bong Tae-Yoon, the Maknae on top, whose hands hold the lives of his group members, begins now!

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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.”