Amber Sword - Chapter 92 - 38 Acts Time War

A new work from the author of 'My Senior Brother is Too Steady', welcome to enjoy it!------------------In the instant the Earth exploded, the fear of death finally transformed into physical torment, the agony of being scorched seared into the deepest recesses of Yang Ming's memory.“The universe is the abyss.”Yang Ming murmured softly among the stars.[PS: Not a game narrative; early game settings will have a complete logical explanation later in the plot. Starting anew on a different track, this isn't in the style of previous works so don't promote it in the old way, treat me as a newcomer. Just entering the domain of interstellar sci-fi, corrections on details are welcome. ]

Xia Changge is a timid and honest cultivator who has practiced for thirty years without even killing a chicken.

His ordinary life changed after he was killed because his fellow Daoist next door went out to seek opportunities, and begged Xia Changge to help take care of his wife and daughter…

Longevity flow, independent family flow.

- Description from novelbuddy

Let’s fight! Go! Who am I afraid of with a chip that turns into a brain cell? ! Get promoted and get rich! The nest treasures are all mine!

- 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.”