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The Strongest War God

Tác giả: Luming
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  • 1950 ch
    Nội dung
  • 3.6
    15 số lượng người đọc
  • NO.196
    HỖ TRỢ
Tóm tắt

His name was Brayden Neal, and he was an ordinary citizen. At eighteen years old, he was bestowed the title of a king! After ten years of fighting in the northern borders outside the kingdom, he finally returned home. He swore to kill three people the moment he arrived at the capital...

Chapter 1Seventeen-Year-Old Crowned King

"Grandma, is he really that powerful?"

In the bustling commercial street, the girl turned on her phone, and the wallpaper just happened to be a young man in plain clothes.

Why would there still be people wearing cotton clothes at this day and age? The girl pouted her thin lips and secretly thought to herself that when she saw him the next day, the first thing she would do was to make him change his clothes.

A seventy-year-old silver-haired old lady who was next to her stopped and smiled.

"Silly girl, you don't like him?" The old woman turned around.

The girl bit her thin lips with her pearly white teeth, and her clear eyes were filled with unwillingness.

The conversation started quietly just like that.

She furrowed her brows and said, "Grandma, look at him. He's the same age as me, yet he's dressed like a little old man. His white cotton clothes are so ugly!"

"Impudent!" The old woman rapped the ground with her dragon staff.

With a thump, the stone slab beneath her feet shattered into pieces.

The street vendors were so scared that they peed their pants.

The girl was very stubborn and refused to change her point of view.

"Heather, I want you to remember this. He may be dressed plainly, but there are things you can't tell from how one dresses. Do you know why 800,000 soldiers were gathered at the border three years ago?!" The old woman said solemnly.

"I don't. I think it was a border conflict. Didn't they retreat in the end?"

The girl was serious as she tried to recall what happened.

The old woman used her calmest tone possible, but what came out of her mouth made people's blood boil.

"Of course, they had to retreat," the old woman said slowly. "With him at the border, how would the enemies outside dare not retreat? 

"A simple cotton cloth intimidated 800,000 elites! 

"He is Braydon Neal!"

The old woman slowly revealed a secret.

"How is that possible?" The girl cried out. "He scared off 800,000 enemies with just a piece of clothing. What is he? A deity?"

"If there's someone in this world who can become a deity, it can only be him!"

The old woman was a little tired, so she slowly disappeared from the bustling street with the girl.

If there was anyone in the world who could become a deity, it would be the legend of the northern region, Braydon Neal.

He was a deity-like man in plain clothes!

A single comment was enough to describe his legend.

The most terrifying cotton cloth in the world!

...

The old woman and the young woman disappeared from the bustling streets of Preston city.

In the vast ocean thousands of miles away, a huge passenger ship was sailing east.

A young man in plain clothes was sitting on the seat near the door of the passenger ship. His eyes were as bright as the stars, and his handsome lips seemed to always have a humble smile.

On the inner lane of the seats, there was a thin and weak old man who appeared to be feeling rather uneasy. His face, which had been burned by a fierce fire, was quite ferocious and terrifying.

His lips were dry and cracked, and he was sweating.

The young man in plain clothes was Braydon Neal. He said gently, "Sir, are you thirsty?"

"A little!" The emaciated old man bitterly admitted.

Braydon handed him a cup of tea, not bothering the hostess.

However, the old man's drinking capacity was obviously higher than ordinary people. This was not thirst but an illness!

It was similar to traumatic sequelae!

Braydon waited for the old man to finish his water before asking, "Sir, were your injuries caused by a huge fire?"

"I used to be a firefighter. Five years ago, there was a fire in Preston. I rushed in with my squadron to put out the fire. I'm a tough person, and I didn't die even though I was severely burned."

The old man had a self-deprecating smile on his lips.

The fire was so terrifying that the waves of fire rose tens of meters high and swallowed the entire squad. It had even burned him to such a terrifying state.

How cruel it was for a person to live beyond recognition!

As the listener, Braydon listened to the old man's story about the raging fire. He then noticed that his cup was empty, so he got up and went to buy some mineral water.

When Braydon turned around, he saw that the seat was empty.

The old man was standing in front of the public water heater. Both his hands were thin, and he only had six fingers. The cruise had been sailing for the whole day, and he had not had a single drop of water. He was already slightly hungry.

Behind the old man stood a burly man in a black suit. He frowned and urged, "Old man, what are you waiting for?"

"I'm sorry, I'm done now."

The old man's body was weak. Under the urging of the man, he turned off the tap nervously and turned to leave.

However, the burly man's patience had long run out. He pushed the old man away and hurriedly took out a crystal cup to get some hot water.

The old man's body swayed, and an instant cup noodle fell out of his hand, spilling the soup all over the ground.

At the front of the corridor sat a young man with fair skin. There were instant noodles on the ground under his feet. His eyes turned dark, and he was filled with anger as he sneered, "You old dog, are you f*cking looking for death?"

Smack!

The fair-skinned young man suddenly stood up and slapped the old man on the face.

The old man staggered a few steps backward and almost fell to the ground.

The man in the suit turned around, his face pale. "Young master Larson, are you alright?"

"What do you think?" The fair-skinned youth, Ian Larson, shot him a glance.

The man in the suit was a bodyguard. He trembled and turned around to punch and kick the old man while scolding angrily, "You blind old thing. Do you know who you've offended?"

He was the second young master of the Larson family, one of the seven greatest families in Preston!

In Preston, the Larson family was deeply rooted. In recent years, they had been doing well and were becoming more and more prosperous. They had a vague chance of becoming the head of the seven great families.

In Preston, there was no one he, Ian Larson, could not afford to offend!

The passengers around him looked at him with fear in their eyes, and no one came forward to stop him.

Not many families in Preston could afford to offend the Larson family.

But at this moment, someone stood forward.

Under everyone's gazes.

Braydon's thin lips moved slightly as he said, "If you touch him one more time, I'll kill your entire family!"

Whoosh!

There was pin-drop silence in the entire place.

Who was this person?

He even dared to provoke the Larson family. In Preston, even the other great families would not dare to say things like wiping out the entire Larson family.

The bodyguard froze, and his fist stopped in mid-air.

"Who the f*ck are you? Continue beating him up!" Ian laughed in anger.

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I Was Hoping She Would Notice but again Now When She Did... Im Tired

burn me alive if you didn't like story after reading Don’t Judge My Book by Its Cover or Synopsis Warning: Not for the faint-hearted or those with tender souls. This story is my outlet, my way of pouring out the weight of my depression and heartache. --- This is a story about a boy, someone who was given a second chance at life after dying at the fragile age of 13 in his last world. This boy didn’t dream of wealth, power, or glory. All he wanted was something much simpler and yet infinitely more complicated a happy, fulfilling life. He yearned to love someone truly, completely, more than he loved himself. And he tried. Oh, he tried. He gave everything, even his soul, to make that dream a reality. At five years old, the boy awakened a system some love-giving mechanism that claimed he was living in a novel or plot. It didn’t reveal much, only teasing him with the promise that all would be explained when he turned 18. But he didn’t care about that. He didn’t believe in destiny or fate. “What does it matter if I’m part of some story?” he thought. “I’m not playing by anyone’s rules. I’ll create my own happy life, one where I love and am loved.” How wrong he was. The boy devoted himself to those he cared for, never once living for the system or the rewards it promised. He loved because that’s who he was a person who gave from his heart, not because he expected anything in return. He didn’t need to win prizes for his kindness, didn’t need recognition. What he longed for, the one thing he lacked, was to be loved back. But no matter how much he gave, it was never enough. He sacrificed everything his time, his affection, his happiness and yet, in the end, all he got in return was rejection, indifference, and disappointment. Still, even then, he couldn’t stop loving. His heart, which had been so brutally trampled on, still beat for the one person he cherished the most Avey, the woman he had loved with every fiber of his being. And when the time came, and Avey needed a heart transplant to survive, the boy made his final, most devastating choice. He gave her his heart. Literally. With nothing left to give, he sacrificed his life in the hope that, maybe, in his absence, Avey would find the peace that his love couldn’t give her. As he lay there, his breath fading, he whispered his last words: “I hope my absence brings you the peace my love couldn’t.” Even in his final moments, he might have asked the heavens, “Why didn’t you make our love story complete?” And perhaps, if God were listening, he might have answered, “I could have, but she never asked for you in the first place.” And with that, the boy passed. But his death wasn’t met with quiet mourning or gentle tears. Lucian’s friends those who knew the true weight of his sacrifice, who understood the depth of his love stood by his lifeless body. They cried. They screamed. They raged against the cruelty of it all. One of his closest friends, barely holding back his own devastation, kneeled by Lucian’s side. His hands clenched the cold earth beneath him so tightly that his nails drew blood, and through a stream of tears, he raised his head, staring at his friend’s lifeless face. “You always said you wanted a wedding in Gangsta style, right?” His voice cracked as he forced the words out. His heart was breaking, but even through his grief, a twisted smile tugged at his lips. “Well, you’ll have it, Lucian. But it won’t be for your wedding. It’ll be for your funeral.” And as he stood, tears still streaming down his face, he made a promise to the friend he loved like a brother. “All the world will hear gunshots like firecrackers. The sky will burn with the sound of our grief. And up there, Lucian, you’ll watch what a true Gangsta style is.” And in that moment, as the world prepared to mourn Lucian in the only way they knew how loudly, violently, with a fury that matched the depths of their sorrow lucian opened his eyes finding that he had came back in time...when he was 18

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