Spirit Immortal - Chapter 15 Do you like Hammers? 3

A young man finally managed to become an immortal, a powerful cultivator able to lord over millions of souls. He took advantage of his tremendous luck and fortune to become the youngest immortal in history. He now wants to create his own sect and enjoy life, one filled with female disciples!

Graduate student Yi-han finds himself reborn in another world as the youngest child of a mage family.

– I’m never attending school, ever again!

‘What do you wish to achieve in life?’

‘I wish to play around and live comforta-‘

‘You must be aware of your talent. Now go attend Einroguard!’

‘Patriarch!’

My future would be guaranteed once I graduate. For my future!

“Uncle, I was punished for being late! ” “Buy the school. ”

“Uncle, I was bullied! ” “SEND THEM TO HEAVEN! ”

In this era of competing for fathers, Qin Sheng never competed for fathers. Those things were too extravagant. She didn’t have them, she only competed for uncles!

Ever since she had a rich uncle, she lived a life of fighting and being cleaned up by others, causing trouble and being scapegoated by others.

Her three big goals in life were to make him fall in love with her, fall in love with her, fall in love with her!

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.”