MTL - Farmer of Shu Han - Chapter 1203 deploy troops

"Five years! Do you know how these five years have been for me?"

It had been five years since Gongzi Liang was transmigrated to a fantasy world and had received the Legendary Gold System.

However, the system kept nagging him to top up every time.

[$3 for God's Ring, $6 for first-time reward, $18 for enhancement, $28 for God-tier Beast...]

Gongzi Liang could only look at all the god-tier rewards and couldn't do anything because he didn't have money.

But, he did realize that he could level up his skills and strengthen his body by using copper coins. It could save him 99.99% of training.

It wasn't even hard for him to jump a few ranks in one day.

He would also gain coupons by completing the daily missions.

Just like that, Gongzi Liang became obsessed with completing his daily missions...

In the King’s game, the [King]’s order is absolute and has the power to create rules. As the owner of a special physique, Gu Huai was selected by the system to participate in the game. “Win the game and become the [King], and you can obtain whatever it is you desire.”

- Description from Novelupdates

“This guy, how heavy is his taste, he’s still able to eat?” Waking up, she looked at her reflection in the mirror, explosive hair, tattoos, and a demon-like face. Look at her for more than a second and you’ll have spicy eyes (your eyes will bleed-aka she looks really ugly).

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.”