Muscular Rabbits Legion: 'No one can escape from the novice village!' - Chapter 171 - 169 Ferocious Rabbit【Third Update】

The idiot Long Gen pretends to be a pig and eats a tiger, takes advantage of the girls in the village, travels across the countryside and forests, monopolizes the beauty and coquettishness, and achieves the legend of “Dragon Gen”. There is a widow in front of the door leaning on the door to watch, and a sister-in-law next door looking through the screen window… This book is determined to be a stallion, with the goal of pushing down and being pushed.

- Description from novelbuddy

A crunchy and crispy chicken. The stretchy cheese on pizza, and eating ramyeon at 1 in the morning! I only wanted to eat delicious food. So why is my life in danger because of bulimia*?!

There’s a place where I can fulfill my most cherished dream of eating everything I want!

The virtual reality game Athenae!

I’m just eating well but isn’t this a bit weird?

The true value of food

(Acquired +1 STR)

The stat went up.

Note: *Raw says 폭식 결여증 which literally means deficiency in binge eating. I’m assuming this is the Non-purging Type of Bulimia.

……………………………………………………………

Dear readers! Without any ads, maybe you will prefer .

When we met for the first time in our first year of high school, he saw my contempt, but silently continued to clean;

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.”