I Was Possessed By An Unknown Manga - Chapter 241: Talent Show

Obtaining ancient inheritance, the small farmer embarks on a path of prosperity. Let me show you the power of a small farmer!

Song Shi came to a fairy world where demons and ghosts danced wildly. He thought he was going to walk a trembling road of cultivating immortals, but he awakened the death flow system, which gained power from death and became stronger every time he died.

The style of painting suddenly changed. Others practice immortality to seek immortality, but he is not dead, so he can only seek immortality by dying. He is either trying to die or looking for death along the way.

“You have been killed by Yin spirits 10 times, awaken the spiritual root of fire!”

“You have been killed by zombies 10 times, awaken your natural power!”

“You have lost your mind and died 10 times, and you have awakened your Taoist heart!”

“You were killed by the formation, the level of the formation is +1!”

“You die in an alchemy blast furnace, your alchemy level +1!”

Pure Yang Spiritual Body, Nine Yang Divine Body, Sun Holy Body; Vajra Spiritual Body, Golden Divine Body, Desolate Ancient Holy Body; Psychic Sword Body, Innate Dao Body; Formation Master, Alchemy Master…

It’s so much fun on the road of cultivation, constantly unlocking death poses, step by step to the top of the fairy road…

Many years later, it was rumored in the world that when Song Shi died, the immortals were terrified, the demons trembled, and ten thousand Buddhas retreated!

- 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.”