Pokémon Court - Chapter 133 *Title Hidden*

After four years, He Yiming finally became a Sect Master, activated the sect system, and received sign-in rewards!

The system summoned the souls of humans from Earth, reshaped their bodies, and  made them disciples of the sect!

With that, the sect’s style of operation drastically changed!

Even though they couldn’t even kill the monsters in the novice village head, they just had to do a suicide attack to defeat it. That, and a whole lot of shenanigans as they innovate the world of cultivation!

While trying to survive, Eddie needs to create his Serum. But, all these works make his life pressure continues to grow.Especially after he meets Ada Wong.All he can do is 'Fighting' with the female Wesker to calm the stress.As for Alex, Jill, and Rebecca. Eddie *cough* does not know them... Maybe just friends that like to hang out and drink coffee together?Wait... You tell me they all had children?In the future?Ah, I see... Still, who is the children's father?

Westheid transmigrates into his favorite game. Just as he's overwhelmed by happiness, he finds that the female protagonist whose families are all killed by Chaos is calling him.“Brother, please eat. Don't just space out. Did you get enough rest last night? There's a social ball at the Holy Tree Palace today.”

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.”