MTL - Landing in the Fantastic World - Chapter 902 An apprentice

The whole people cross the border of mountains and seas.

Start a thatched hut, build a house, farm, and raise exotic animals?

Su Mu, who was reborn, said, I just want to live in peace and quiet.

Every day, I take a thousand-year-old strange beast for a walk, and a ten-thousand-year-old giant beast for a walk.

Occasionally go fishing for a few mermaids and come back, the days are free and comfortable.

When I get bored, I kidnap a dragon girl and come back to play with it.

Hey, I’m just playing….!

- Description from novelbuddy

Michael Alastair never mattered. In a world where strength was everything, he was nothing—just another powerless kid, easy to break and easier to forget. When his tormentors finally took things too far, his story should have ended in that alley, bleeding and alone.But fate had other plans.In the void between life and death, a voice spoke. Cold. Sharp. Amused. [NEW TALENT UNLOCKED: WRITER’S LEGACY]. A system unlike any other—sarcastic, relentless, and strangely invested—offered Michael a power beyond reason and a purpose he never imagined. Now, armed with an SSS-rank ability and a mission to rise, he’s back. And this time, he won’t just survive—he’ll rewrite the rules.

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.”