Blacksmith: You Are Making Mjolnir For The Forging Exam? - Chapter 46 - Promotion to Pavilion Master, Wu Mo Rejects

After dying, Chen Heng finds that he has transmigrated to an alternate reality: everything is the same, except the world is now a Wuxia world heavily influenced by martial arts! Not only this, he discovers that he has a Fantasy Simulator, from which he obtains rewards that make him incredibly powerful in his new reality as well. Martial arts, immortal cultivation, and overpowered abilities–all of this begins from a single simulation!

Introduction: Zhao Si, one of Wall Street’s rising rookies, has been reborn. Knowing the trend of the times, he wants to make his corrupt official father change his ways…

(ps: This story is purely made up, if there is any similarity, it is definitely a coincidence, and it is not aimed at any individual or group organization.)

- Description from novelbuddy

“If someone has to become the strongest, why can't it be me?”

An unfortunate young man, brought to another world by a meteor, voices his unwillingness with a defiant roar.

I just want to create a fantastical world that doesn't seem too unreal.

Pre-reading Reminder 1: If you think human nature can simply be divided into good or bad, proceed with caution.

Pre-reading Reminder 2: If you believe a sect is just a crowd of people flattering the protagonist, proceed with caution.

Pre-reading Reminder 3: If you think the whole world is a stage for the protagonist to show off, and all people are merely stepping stones for the protagonist, proceed with caution.

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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.”