Doomsday Wonderland - Chapter 1623: The Back Room

Might is truth!

Iron-blooded Prime Minister Bismarck once said: “To solve major contemporary problems, we cannot rely on speeches and parliamentary resolutions… we must rely on iron and blood.”

Qin Tian, ​​a military enthusiast, was reborn as the fifth son of William II, Prince Oscar . Originally, he just wanted to eat and wait to die, but by accident, he became the heir to the empire.

For his own life, Qin Tian had to do everything possible to let Germany win the war!

Qin Tian’s goal: “Use the German sword to obtain land for the German plow, obtain daily bread for the German people, and fight for the land under the sun for the German nation!”

I’ve had enough of being transmigrated into books.

Growing up parentless, Shi Yan, who was left with a large inheritance money, bore a general disinterest in life.

The only times he felt alive was when adrenaline coursed thorough his veins. He quickly found that extreme sports, bungyjumping, cave diving & skydiving, gave him the biggest kicks. The bigger the adrenaline kick, the closer he was to death, the more alive he felt.

Waking up in a pile of dead bodies in an unknown land, after a diving adventure had ended disastrously, he quickly realizes the body he now possessed was not his own.

Follow Shi Yan as he explores this new world where danger lurks around every corner, and death is only a breath away; a world in which Shi Yan could not feel any more alive.

- Description from novelupdates

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.”