Call Of The Dark - Chapter 37 Gladys

Han Muye, who had exceptional comprehension skills, was reborn into a cultivation world. He joined a clan which specialized in swordsmanship. He then became the keeper who looked after the swords in the Swords Pavilion.

There were more than 100,000 swords stored in the pavilion. The keeper was tasked to clean all of them once a month.

When Han Muge cleaned the Qinghe sword, he acquired a hint of Sword Qi.

When he cleaned the Ziyan sword, he comprehended the swordsmanship, the Burning Plain, left behind by the original owner of the sword. He also acquired the Sword Qi of Burning Flame.

When he cleaned the Shanyue sword, he comprehended the teachings left behind by Master Boulder and learned the Mountain Sword Technique.

…

Han Muye built up his Sword Qi bit by bit during the past 60 years working as a keeper in the pavilion.

Throughout the 60 years, a disciple came to seek a sword in the pavilion, and he received guidance from Han Muye.

The Sacred Maiden from the demonic clan attempted to steal a sword from the pavilion, but in the end, she left dejected and empty-handed.

A swordsman came to challenge Han Muye, and he left with a broken sword.

…

60 years later, the Celestial World invaded the mortal world.

The disciple had become an exceptional Sword Deity. He wielded his sword and protected a part of the world.

The Sacred Maiden had become the demonic clan leader. She sent a letter to the Swords Pavilion and led her clan to fight against the gods.

The swordsman had achieved enlightenment in his swordsmanship. His Sword Qi rifled up to the sky.

…

The gods from the Celestial World loomed over the sky above.

Han Muye slowly stood up. 100,000 swords followed him as he emerged from the pavilion. His Sword Qi could be sensed from 30,000 miles away, and his Sword Will pierced through the realms.

He declared, “Today, I, Han Muye, will traverse the sky. I want to see who among the gods dares to invade this mortal world.”

Ye Qingli is the daughter of an Imperial Businessman’s first wife, wealthy and overbearing. But because of her mother’s early funeral, she suffered utter oppression and abuse under the hands of her stepmother. On the eve of her marriage, she died tragically in the hands of her stepsister and her own fiance!

Blue Learley, a seventeen-year-old girl, lived in a small town with her parents and two brothers. Everything was going as usual until that fateful night when her life changed forever. Demetrius Easton, the merciless werewolf king, got his eyes on her and wanted her as his bride. When her own parents sold her to him, she had no way of escaping him and no one to turn to for help.***“I don’t want to stay away for too long. Sometimes I fear the bird might fly away.”“The bird doesn’t have a home. The outside world is dangerous for it. And besides, the bird has already found its freedom inside,” I said. “The bird won’t fly away.”‘So you don’t have to cut its wings since it did not grow them in the first place. It’s okay. The bird likes the cage anyway.’

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.”