MTL - There is Room For the Hot Lady In the Farmhouse - Chapter 927 birthday of the fifth prince

I reincarnated with e*otic game skills, but this is apparently an apocalyptic dark fantasy. I can’t die, so I tried to save the world with e*otic game skills… “Saint! Save us!!” “Saint! Save us!!!” People keep calling me a saint.

“I’ve been possessed into the controversial makjang drama ‘Gwangin’ (The Lunatic). Of all roles, I’m the omega secretary to an alpha with omega-phobia. It’s hard enough hiding my identity, but I’m also in charge of all sorts of annoying tasks: managing the protagonist’s diet, wardrobe, and house; coaxing and soothing the beta he loves. My goal is to survive until the ending where the protagonist meets the strange beta who thinks even his obsession is love, leading to a happy ending… I think I smell an omega somewhere.’ ‘That’s… impossible.’ If I speak carelessly, I die. If I mess up my work, I die. If I run away, I die. And if the fact that I’m an omega is revealed… I really die. ‘Right. It shouldn’t be possible, but that’s why I feel so f*cking awful, Secretary Kim.’ Will I be able to make it back alive…?”

This novel is also known as 1000 Years Later, Even My Weakest Follower Has Become A Demon King

After traveling through the game where he worked so hard to clear the level, Zhou Mu found that the whole world was stunned for some reason.

Why is the mainland united in its own name?

What’s going on with this religion in its own name?

What the hell are members of the royal family claiming to have their own bloodline? I wonder if this game doesn’t have this feature?

“What have you done in the thousand years I’ve been away!”

- 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.”