Empire Conquest - Chapter 845 - 92: Air Defense Interception_2

Xiao Ming, a junior in high school, experienced the whole life of a high-tech planet Pan Shaxing science and technology warrior after staying up late to watch a novel suddenly die.

Xiao Ming, who was dying to death, found that science courses have become simpler. In addition, he also has Pan Shaxing’s technology system.

At the juncture of the college entrance examination, he started a different life.
From sewage treatment technology to domestic operating system;
From neuron chip to anti-gravity technology;
From DNA repair shop to conscious upload server;
Every black technology that changed lives came into being.
I appeared on the cover of “Time” and asked for the front page of “Forbes”.

“Forbes”: “This man has a monopoly on the world, we can no longer calculate his value …”
Technology creates the future, Xiao Ming should be the future guide.

Xiao Xiaoming: “I’m sorry, I seem to have skewed the human tree of science and technology.”

- Description from Qidian

When a person dies, they either die light as a feather (aka unimportant) or heavy as Mt. Tai (aka very important).

Jiang Ping’an returned to the era of scarcity and lived in a courtyard full of animals. How should he survive?

As neighbors with Qin Jingru and Qin Huairu, and in the same village as Liang Ladi, what story will happen between them?

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”