Dragon Who Controls Time - Chapter 1467 - Demon Tree Heart (2)

Dual Cultivation is an art. The more you focus on doing the art, the worse it becomes. Only when doing it becomes part of the art itself, does one truly experience it to its fullest.

Tian Han was a young boy who admired immortals. His dream had always been to become like them—flying on swords, using spells. But he was just an ordinary village boy, and he didn't have much of a chance for that. So, he always read books about immortals, and his admiration for them grew more and more every day. One day, he heard that he had a chance to become an immortal.“You can become immortal.”This was the sentence where his adventure began. Yes, he could become an immortal. And so, his journey started, and he found himself in the ruthless world of immortals.

Young Lin Yi, betrayed by his beloved, had his core taken away and became a pariah despised by all.At a fortuitous moment, Lin Yi acquired the ancient legacy 'Chaos Sword Body Technique', rising against the odds to embark on a path of revenge!“Those who have wronged me, Lin Yi, shall be repaid a hundredfold!”

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.”