A God Killed Me By Accident, But I Reincarnated As The 4th Son Of The Marquis - Chapter 61Volume 1 : Bad Omen

In order to live he must get close to girls, what kind of rule is this? Tang Zheng possess the Nine Yang Saint Body, a rare body constitution that is hard to come across within a millennium, yet he must absorb pure Yin energy to stay alive. In order to live, he will fight! Absolute campus belles, goddess teachers, charming housewives, haughty lolis… all kinds of woman walk into his life causing him to be surrounded by beauties!

“Here's what happened. I was in a desperate situation when I accidentally encountered a dragon. It told me I was a martial arts prodigy and said it would teach me the Dao of Immortality…” “This excuse for skipping class and cultivating in secret… is that seriously the reason?” “I don’t care whether it’s human or not, what matters is that the dragon said: ‘If you want to become strong, kneel and call me Master.’”

Anning was controlled by the main god system to be countless side characters and cannon fodder women in numerous lives. One day, she finally broke free from the control of the main god, and thereafter, Anning embarked on a journey to help numerous cannon fodder women fight back and slap the faces of their opposers.New article 'Getting Rich Starting From a Million-Fold Devaluation of the World' is released, please recommend and collect.

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.”