100 Days to Seduce the Devil - Chapter 830: The Most Awaited Revelation

The new book “Cultivation of Immortals Begins from Planting Sweet Potatoes” has been released, and new and old book lovers are welcome to come and read it!

A poor boy whose parents died accidentally found a mysterious space and set foot on the avenue of cultivating immortals. From then on, he planted spiritual herbs, refined elixir, opened shops, trained troops, and established a fairyland…

This article is about cultivating immortals and farming, not for mortals, not for stallions.

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- Description from novelbuddy

Fang Heng was transmigrated to a parallel world and his soul was forced into the body of a man who had just committed suicide.Huh? What? Every human here was being forced to join a game? Those who refused would be killed?Wait? This suicide dude was a pro gamer?He had the highest S-rank talent sill, the Zombie Clone?Damn! The S-rank skill evolved! My zombie clones could auto hunt![Your zombie army has crafted Wooden Axe x720 when you were offline. You have received 1921 experience points for the Basic Crafting skill.][Your zombie army has chopped down 27,821 trees and gathered 128,973 pieces of wood while you were offline. You have received 2,171,921 experience points for the Basic Wood Chopping skill.]Just as the rest of the players were struggling to survive in the zombie apocalyptic game, Fang Heng's zombie clones were starting to clear every resource out of the forest.Hm... What an interesting game!

Mimizuku, a small girl with chains on her wrists and ankles and the numbers “332” branded onto her forehead, wanders into the Forest of Night seeking to be eaten by a monster. However, when the ruler of the monsters, the mysterious and beautiful “King of Night,” refuses to eat her, she tries to formulate a way to convince him otherwise.

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.”