MTL - Good God, Stop! - Chapter 132 Chapter132

A young man who wanted nothing but love from others died while talking to a mysterious author of his favourite novel.However, that wasn't the end for him, as he reincarnates in a Xianxia world with a Wish Fulfillment system. He can wish for anything, and it will be fulfilled.Finally, getting a chance to make his dream come true, he decided to make his own Divine Harem Sect where he would have a whole sect to love him.Of course, that also includes other type of love........“Huh!? What do you mean my disciples destroyed your sect? That's impossible! Don't you see how cute and kind they are? They are harmless!”“Hmm? My disciple flattened the Hollow Mountains? Don't joke around. Can't you see her sleeping peacefully in my lap?”“My dear disciples, why are you all lowering your robes? Wait! Why are you taking my clothes off? Well, now I can't do anything about this.”

A Count’s Daughter who lost in the running to become the Second Prince’s fianceé, Camilla. The Prince chose a Baron’s daughter as his fianceé, and the world blessed the two’s love as fated. On the other hand, Camilla who was tailored and elevated as the love’s villain in the end, as punishment she was made to marry a terribly fat and ugly man――called『Toad of the Swamp』from his appearance, a lord of a remote region named Alois.

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.”