Duality of Shadows - Chapter 17: Want to fight?

In the last life, Lin Yu Tong chose to fly with Shen Jun for his own happiness, whereby he ended up creating an irreparable regret for a lifetime. However, such a contribution has not been able to exchange the happiness of a lifetime. Shen was derailed and Lin Yu Tong had an accident.

Some people transmigrate into Emperors, others become wangye.

They live in luxury; their hands covering the Heavens.

Some people transmigrate into shizuns, or sect leaders.

They would have the respect of all, their powers supernatural.

Some unlucky souls become villains, but even with their terrible reputations they would still have enough power to summon rain from the sky, maybe even manage to kill off the protagonist.

But Li Changtian, a stand up young man from a good family, who died on the battlefield protecting someone, widened his eyes.

He! Transmigrated!

Into a person everyone wanted dead, with an unabsolvable crime!

Li Changtian: “??? Wait wait, did something go wrong somewhere?”

The magistrate of the Imperial Justice Bureau, Yan Shu, who hated injustice more than anything in the world had just stepped onto his head and said in an ice cold voice: “A life for a life.”

Li Changtian: “&%%%￥&￥#@”

- Description from Novelupdates

When Cui Qichao’s ancient emperor blood awakened, he began to suppress the emperor’s instincts in various worlds…by crazily farming.

Yandi Shennong’s blood, quality farming guaranteed.

Cui Qichao: I love farming, farming makes me happy!

- 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.”