Endless Winter: My Camp Upgrades Infinitely - Chapter 327 - 173: New Regulations of the Hunting Department, Building Upgrade_3

The weak cry out with all their might, yet no one cares; The strong whisper softly, yet their words penetrate deeply into the heart. A Talent Tree ablaze with flames, every leaf bearing different spirit runes, Lu Ye, reduced to a mining slave after his sect was destroyed, used this to become a cultivator and stirred the winds of change in the Nine Provinces...

I don’t want to die. I want to be free. To that end, I shall….reconcile myself to the fate of becoming a “monster”.

A strange disease that racks one’s entire body with intense never-ending pain, until the person slowly withers away and eventually dies. After a few years of braving through the pain, the boy is in no luxury to even feel despair. With nary a soul to tend to him, he breathes his last.

The next time he opened his eyes, the boy had become an “Undead” of the lowest rank through the power of an evil Necromancer.

The boy rejoices at having his earnest desire fulfilled, which is a body that will never feel pain. However, he realizes that he is still under someone’s control and how it was no different from when he was cooped up in the hospital ward.

But the world would not leave alone the boy who only wished for peace.

The Necromancer who revives the boy from the dead, names him “End” and attempts to gain control over him.

The Undead Knights, lay their lives on the line to persistently chase after and annihilate the beings of the darkness.

With countless monsters under their command, the Demon Lords rule over their own lands while they all contend for ultimate supremacy.

The motivation being survival and freedom. The requirements being caution and power.

This is the tale of the cowardly King of the Undead. In his pursuit for freedom, he heads into battle and turns tail at times. He knows when to fear his opponents and when to waver in his decisions.

Deng Shirong was reborn and returned to the summer of 1980.

In the previous life, because I believed the matchmaker’s words easily, several of my children’s marriages were unhappy. My two sons-in-law were unable to support me, and my several daughters-in-law made the family a mess.

In this life, he will personally take action to find partners for his children.

A few years later, when I got together with some old friends, when they talked about whether their daughters-in-law were filial or not, Deng Shirong didn’t say anything. He just posted a WeChat Moments message in front of several old friends, saying Suddenly I want to eat Guilin’s beer fish.

The next moment, several daughters-in-law living in different cities called him in turn:

Eldest daughter-in-law: “Dad, I will drive back to pick you up on Saturday to travel to Guilin. I haven’t eaten authentic beer fish in a long time!”

Second daughter-in-law: “Dad, I happen to have nothing to do right now. I will drive back to pick you up. Let’s go to Guilin for a few days together.”

Third daughter-in-law: “Dad, my company still has some things to deal with. I’ll ask the driver to pick you up first…”

Fourth daughter-in-law: “…”

Young daughter-in-law: “…”

Several old friends were stunned and their eyes were red with envy!

[This book mainly describes the customs and customs of the rural areas of Bobai County, Guangxi in the 1980s. It focuses on matchmaking + food + daily life. It has a strong local flavor, real prices, and a reasonable plot. It requires careful appreciation, and those who are impetuous should beware]

ps: There is an old book “I don’t accept anyone as a matchmaker” with a high order of 35,000+. If you are interested, you can check it out!

- 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.”