The Dragon Lord's Aide Wants to Quit [BL] - Chapter 97: A Dragon’s First Wish

In the City of Crime, one law stands above them all: Only the strongest can live.

Lu Sheng, who transmigrates to the Star Sea Era, unexpectedly acquires an attribute panel capable of solidifying every single advancement he makes.In this perilous world filled with alien gods, immortals, Mechanical Ascenders, and more, Lu Sheng relies on himself to progress from mortal flesh to the singular True Self.Years later...Lu Sheng flying across the universe, gazes upon the endless darkness at the edge of the cosmos, where a colossal being as vast as the Milky Way Galaxy—once recorded in mythologies of Blue Star—resides.He speaks faintly, “You might be the most formidable Galactic Life Form I’ve ever encountered. Calling you a god wouldn’t be unjustified.”“Yet it’s a pity, for I have already established the foundation of the Great Dao and forged the singular True Self. Henceforth... you may call me the Martial God!”

Qin Nuo transmigrated into the Great Zhou dynasty, becoming the dim-witted Ninth Prince. As if it’s not enough to be a female transmigrating into a male, (s)he thought that (s)he could just enjoy a life of drinking, eating, and being merry–but no. He ended up being pushed to do something way beyond his abilities and entered the fight for the throne. Internally there is strife among brothers, and a powerful official with great authority; externally there are foreign powers looking to invade, and the discontent of the people that is boiling over. How is he supposed to pave a path through this mess both domestically and abroad? It’s hard to be emperor, and even harder to be a good emperor! This is a story about an emperor farming. While others are farming a field, he’s farming a whole imperial court.

- 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.”