MTL - Assassin’s Chronicle - Chapter 555 Account after the fall

After Kama Taj learned magic for ten years… He Shenyan realized.

It turns out that I can’t go home, it’s not me, it’s the things you teach here!

goodbye!

- Description from novelbuddy

Ai Qian, a street-crazy author who wakes up every day because of her own poverty, is bound by the system!
The system is obedient: Host, you are the daughter of a rich family, you are a billionaire female president, you are a superstar… Are you happy?
Ai Qian: Hehe, I might be happier if there is no hero who can kill me at any time.

- Description from novelbuddy

“I will leave the debut group.”

I can’t make it in this group. I should leave and set up a chicken restaurant so that my brothers could at least make a name for themselves.

Destined to be a failed idol, I decided to leave the group for the betterment of the others.

However,

[A member dies if you leave the debut group.]

What?

“…This is making me crazy.”

The struggles of Bong Tae-Yoon, the Maknae on top, whose hands hold the lives of his group members, begins now!

……………………………………………………………

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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.”