The witch thought I am a Demon God - Chapter 745 - 394: The Heir of Conqueror Shaw_2

Transmigrating to the Immortal World, Shen Ping has been cultivating as if he was walking on thin ice for more than twenty years, but he didn’t have cheats and had ordinary qualifications, so his cultivation progressed slowly.

When he finally decided to give up completely and become a loser to enjoy the world… Come on, chicks!

But…

Right after his night of satisfaction, he looked at his lovely wife who was curled up like a kitten in his arms.

[You have diligently cultivated with your wife for one night, gaining talisman-making experience +10]

[Current wife affinity 60]

[Bonus: 0]

[Talisman Master: First Order Lower Grade (1005/1000) Breakable]

He then realized that the way he opened the world of immortals was a bit wrong!

Dear readers! Fresh green style, maybe you will like it more in .

Murong Lingran, who was originally an ancient person, accidentally traveled to the 21st century and lived for 20 years. She was killed when she was bumped and killed while trying to save her child on the way to moving house.

She returned to the ancient times and saw her original family again. Before she could rejoice, she found that she was being swept out of the house, and their family was injured and scattered, and they didn’t even have a place to live.

She clenched her fists, it doesn’t matter, there is space behind her and the omnipotent gods and beasts help, no matter how big the difficulties are. There will be money, houses, fields, manors, shops, and family reunions. It’s just that she didn’t expect that she would accidentally hug the thickest thigh, the kind that doesn’t want to be hugged.

PS: 1. This article is 1V1, overhead, the rack is very empty, please be careful to enter the party.

2. There is room in this article, and there will definitely be plots that go beyond reality. It’s fine to watch it, but if you can’t accept it, don’t enter.

3. Refuse personal attacks, or rebound.

- Description from novelbuddy

Before I woke up, I had a dream about the end of the world. At first, it felt like a vivid nightmare that left me shaken. But as I slowly woke up, I realized that the dream was the pre-ending scene of my own novel.I am Zio Varrez, an unnamed character in my own book, and to my disappointment, an extra. As I lived in my novel's world, I couldn't help but feel that my existence was meaningless. But what made it worse was the fact that the ending of my book was the end of the world - a bad ending.I knew I had to do something to become strong enough to change the world's fate, even if it meant altering the story I once knew completely. Little did I know, there was more to this world than I realized, and the journey I was about to embark on would uncover secrets that I never even imagined.“I thought I knew everything about the world, but as I lived and experienced it, I realized there was so much more to it than I ever imagined.”

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.”