Strongest Grimoire Of The Gods - Chapter 184: Training

Countless planets, endless cultivation.

The struggle for the Dao has persisted for thousands of years.

Miao Xiaojing, a junior disciple of the Evolutionary Immortality Sect, suffered the destruction of his sect, and was thrown into the vast river of fate.

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What does it feel like to be a cannon fodder in your novel?

After ruining countless of his novels with sh*t endings,

Gu Yan who finally received his retribution understood.

Heaven spared no one.

In order to protect his small life, Gu Yan has been sent to diligently clean up his own mess.

However, never did he expect that his ‘clean up’ would be too thorough.

Seeing that the man who was suppose to have killed him kneel down on one knee and take out a ring while saying to him, “Marry me.”

Gu Yan: “…”

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”

Do not underestimate the act of tilling the soil. The practice of farming holds the power to command the clouds and dictate the rainfall with a mere flick of the wrist. Similarly, never undervalue the humble farmer, who might draw the gaze of stunning women, and vie for the affections of fluttering butterflies.A stunning journalist makes for a worthy companion, and even an aloof, imperious law enforcement officer could be brought to plead for mercy. A tutor? Allow me to provide additional instruction! I may appear as a regular individual, but through a stroke of fortune, I have embarked on a captivating journey, dancing amidst the wind and the clouds!