Spare Me, Great Lord! - Chapter 1240: They Are Still a Bunch of Children

Le Xia traveled to the Marvel world. He was born ordinary, but after encountering a dilapidated bronze box, his life was destined to be extraordinary.

“Put on the holy clothes and protect the love and justice on the earth!”

The moment he touched the box, these words were imprinted into his soul.

Whether it’s evil spirits in the dark, covets in the starry sky, or “gods” who regard all living beings as playthings, all evils that try to disturb the peace of this land will face the justice of the saints.

When the golden holy clothes reflected the dazzling starlight and the white cloak fluttered without wind, the legend of the Saint Seiya began to spread throughout the Marvel universe.

- Description from novelbuddy

Civilizations change and the era restarts.

The world returned to the age of steel and steam is full of chaos, madness, twist and evil.

Among them, a group of sorcerers called truth followers have done all their bad things.

They sacrificed to evil gods, besieged the Pope, assassinated the emperor, and even provoked the First World War…

All of this had nothing to do with the transmigrator Melon. When the world was in turmoil, he was the one who squatted aside and watched the show.

Until one day, this group of people came to him and insisted on recognizing him as the leader, and also said that he was the son of destiny. Everything they did before was because they followed his instructions…

- Description from novelbuddy

A poor orphan, who lost both parents, stumbles upon a mysterious space and embarks on the path of cultivating immortality. From then on, he cultivates spiritual herbs, refines immortal pills, opens a shop, practices military formations, and establishes an immortal kingdom…This story is about cultivating immortality and farming, with a focus on ordinary people, not horses.

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.”