Rakish Little Immortal Doctor - Chapter 905: The Power of a Cultivator

“It’s finally here,” said the man with the sword in an echoing whisper.

“The Tower of Choice, the last 100 floors!” the band of five exclaimed in unison.

Angelica came down from the altar with a dull look, seemingly annoying.

Then we looked around.

“I tell you once again, but you’ve had a lot of trouble in the meantime. I couldn’t have climbed to the 100th floor alone without you.”

Thud!

One by one, they fall to the floor.

Angelica’s dagger pierced my neck, and I felt a darkening in front of my eyes with a tumultuous rage. My awareness faded, from my senses, from everything else. After that, everything was eroded by profound darkness.

In the Dragon Abyss Empire, nestled within Clear Water Town, young Jiaang Lin awakens from a brutal beating by his cousin Jiaang Ren, only to discover he has been reborn into his younger self. Once a mocked disciple with blocked meridians, Jiaang Lin had risen to greatness in his past life as a prodigious warrior and Pill Saint. Now, with a second chance, he vows to protect his loved ones and conquer his enemies. How will Jiaang Lin change his destiny and ascend to the pinnacle of martial prowess once more?

She choked to death after drinking a mouthful of cold water. Was there anything more unlucky than this?

Of course, there was! When she reopened her eyes, she found herself transmigrated into a three-hundred-pound fatty.

Not only was she fat and round, but she also had a palm-sized black spot on her body.

She looked down at the layers of swimming floats on her body and swore to exercise and lose weight.

She had just lifted her leg when she collapsed to the ground. This time, she was prepared to go on a diet and lose weight.

When she heard the earth-shattering rumbles from her stomach, she held herself back.

She had not eaten for three days, but she realized that she had only lost one tael.

She instantly broke down. Sensing that something was wrong, she checked and realized that she had been poisoned.

As a descendant of a family that practiced traditional Chinese medicine, this was a small matter.

With acupuncture techniques in her hands, why would she be afraid of a little poison?

Before she could succeed in losing weight, the scumbag canceled their engagement and her stepsister came to provoke her.

‘It’s fine. Staying calm is more important. What? Does he dare to call me an ugly pig, a fat woman, a fatty? This is intolerable!’ With her acupuncture skills, she was able to detoxify the poison and become beautiful.

Using her competence, she managed to face-slap everyone and lose weight while torturing scum.

After accidentally rescuing a chronically ill uncle, he turned out to be her scumbag ex-fiance’s uncle.

She smiled maliciously and said, “Uncle, you should give yourself to me in return for rescuing your life!” When she saw the scumbag again, she said warmly, “My good nephew, call me Auntie.”

Persona:

Song Jiaren: Vengeful for the smallest grievance, naughty, and cheeky.

Yan Cheng: Two-faced, strong, patient, and cunning.

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.”