How a Black-Haired Barbarian Survived the Labyrinth in Another World - Chapter 132: Mom?

Polishing antiques in the basement was supposed to be a punishment. When monsters arrived, it saved Emma’s life. Now sealed inside a suit of armor old when the world was young, Emma Knight will have to master newfound powers she’d long regarded as merely myth; all whilst navigating the breakdown of society and delving through dungeons in search of the truth behind the apocalypse. How’s that for a Sworded Affair? What to expect: LitRPG, Progression, Dungeons and the Apocalypse. What not to expect: Harem, Smut, Drama or Tragedy.

Dress up as a man#

What is White Moonlight?

The white moonlight is like the bright moon in the sky.

What I can’t get is always acting as a real. Bai Yueguang. As a real. Bai Yueguang. Wen Xien takes the plot seriously, but every time the plot collapses, I can’t bear to look directly.

The scene of a large Shura field.

Sports students who are gradually becoming crazy: “Aren’t we best friends? Isn’t it enough to have me?”

The step-brother who gradually revealed his true nature: “No one in this world loves you except me.”

The opponent who gradually criticized: “They can, why can’t I.”

Gradually perverted junior: “I want to tear you apart, I want to be one with you.”

Wen Xien “…Tong, your mission goals are so perverted, do you know?”

The system sneered: “I forced you out!”

This is a story of a small craftsman who turned the mission target into a snake spirit disease.

- 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.”

Throughout heaven and earth, I alone am powerful