Cultivation Chat Group (Web Novel) - Chapter 3134 - 3132: One year later, when I come out, I will discuss immortality with Tyrannical Song!

When Jiang Ming woke up in a strange world, he learned he had obtained immortality. In the dangerous and ruthless world of cultivation, he was determined to carve his unique path. Taking advantage of his immortality, he vowed to learn forbidden skills that would normally eat away at the user’s life.

As he continued on his path, Jiang Ming realized that with his forbidden skills, he could become the strongest.

As a promise, he went out into the world as an assassin. 3 years later, after becoming the Supreme Assassin, he gave up on everything he had and returned to the ranks of ordinary people. But one day, Kismet, a mystical game created by the National Research and Development had appeared.

Enigmatic hands, spectral frame, and one cunning strike just like the swing of the Grim Reaper. The Supreme Assassin takes on the mystical world, and how his legendary tales sets off, progressively ascending the altar to becoming the best.

- Description from Novelupdates

30 year old Lu Ziwen was born in poverty and after struggling for a lifetime, he is finally able to perform in the Golden Hall symbolizing the highest honor. However, an hour before taking the stage, he was killed by his lover.

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.”