The Swordmaster Who Returned After 1,000 Years - Chapter 172

A striking man of mysterious origin and peerless talent, he looks back at the world, in all its entirety, with utter disdain. And yet, in the treacherous and unpredictable ultimate formation of the Boundless Secular World, he guards a breathtaking ancient qin with broken strings, waiting silently for the destined one to arrive!

It was the Great Age of Pirates, surging forward with their thousand sails unfurled.

One young man from earth ate the Goro Goro no Mi (Rumble-Rumble Fruit) and joined the Marine.

Justice vs Evil, Freedom vs Tyranny, the colliding waves between them would never cease.

But all of this…..”I couldn’t care less about!!”

At the summit of the war, surrounded by ten thousand people, Rowen held a thunder halberd in hand and walked forward with strong steps.

Rivals meet face to face, but only one could become the King.

Exile Ren?

The start is hell mode?

Fortunately, there are crossing benefits, and it is still a stitched monster sandbox game system!

Liver Emperor Ren? Hamster Ryan? Isn’t this basic operation?

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”