Bombarding Cultivators with Cluster Artillery - Chapter 225 - 216 Du Jiang Child_1

In order to avoid marrying an old man from the neighboring county, she must run away. The first time she escaped, the general entered the city, and she rolled and fell in front of him, no, she kneeled in front of him (really not on purpose). The second time she escaped, the general came to visit her house, and the general caught her (he must have done it on purpose). The third time, she was bruised and battered, almost desperate, and he came galloping and took her into his arms. (He was very well-intentioned.) The general said, ” Although I do not want to hold a favor to you, it is true that you owe me a favor.” So? 

 An Ruochen is unwilling to submit to fate and meets General Long three times when she runs away from home. She expects to get help from a powerful man, but she is involved in a secret conspiracy instead. Vicious family, a missing younger sister, a mysterious spy, and power struggles. An Ruochen becomes the key to solving the mysteries and becomes the core of General Long’s heart. 

One sentence synopsis: The right person at the right time changes everything.

- Description from Novelupdates

Travel through the Naruto world and be reborn as a dried persimmon ghost shark.

“As a dam maintainer, I carry two hundred catties of lime with me, which is very reasonable and reasonable, right?”

“The so-called unlimited physique means that you are in charge of physique, and I am in charge of unlimited.”

I kidnapped and robbed, didn’t pay my debts, beat up the elderly, bullied children, attacked others without telling the truth, and often killed my superiors and employers…

But I know that I am a good ninja.

I have the heart of a bodhisattva, the face of a vajra, and the means of demons. I walk in the darkness of the ninja world, but I pursue a bright future where everyone is like a dragon.

I, the dried persimmon shark, was born a miscellaneous fish, and swore that one day, I would smash this boring world dominated by blood theory.

- Description from novelbuddy

“There is no god, only the echo of our fears, bound together in a symphony of false hope, woven to make this endless cycle of pain bearable... But I refuse to be just another note in their song. I will not be silenced to protect the gate you so desperately uphold. I don’t care for the blind masses; they are but shadows, moving without purpose. If I cannot run, I will walk. If I cannot walk, I will crawl. If I cannot crawl, I will roll. And if all that remains of me is a severed head, then I will still glare at you with the scorn of the relentless.”...In a world where Hunters fight to keep humanity safe from monstrous invasions, Timothy Walter is nothing more than an E-rank weakling, expendable, powerless, and barely surviving.That changes when a forgotten dungeon forces him into a deadly trial, awakening ancient rulers from across races.Bound to the weakest among them, he inherits a power unlike any other: “King Player.”Now, with a system that defies all logic, Timothy must carve his path, facing enemies both human and monstrous, as he ascends from the lowest depths to claim a throne none believed he could reach.

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.”