A Sorcerer’s Journey - Chapter 607 - Arbitrary Criss-Crossing (3)

This is the story of a modern sailor who was accidentally reborn as a soldier of the Brazilian Expeditionary Force, and finally became the largest plutocratic family in Brazil by virtue of his foresight.

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Su Chen, a doctor from a mountain village, treated a patient and was rewarded with a stunning wife! He hit the jackpot with this one!

Dear readers! Fresh green style, maybe you will like it more in .

Yo, Hi! I’m Frank, I made a deal with a demon to pay me some money for receiving a guest for a few days every week.
I had no idea about what I have done.
On May 1st, Conan ‘the God of Death’ came to my house. I was forced to let him in and we get involved in a criminal case.
On May 8th, Bruce Wayne ‘Batman’ came to me. I was forced to follow him to fight crime.
On May 16th, Hannibal Lecter, The Silence of the Lambs, came to my home. I can only say that I really can’t stand my guests.

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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.”