Who Let Him Cultivate?! (WX) - Chapter 283: Significant Gains

The whole world mutated. Mysterious resurrections happened in real life. The Tribulation descended.

Xiao Feng, the protagonist of the story was an ace at online games. By accident, he knew a game called Mystery which can reduce human’s energy consumption and improve the space-allocation on the earth. In this game, he hit monsters, increased his levels and met a lot of friends. However, at the same time, he was inevitably drawn into the struggle within and outside the labor union. What should he do? And what difficulties would he face? The following are his inner monologues.

I was killed in the game and asked him/her to fight offline only to find that she was a girl. What should I do?

I wanted to be a support and carry my team-mates only to find that all of them were newbies, what should I do?

Please don’t court death and let me kill the boss with the hammer!

To conclude, this story is about a support who would have liked to carry all his team-mates. However, after realizing that support could not save the world, he resolutely picked up the hammer and killed the boss in the game.

Zhang Ye was originally a mundane college graduate with aspiring dreams to become a star, but unfortunately has below average looks and height. However one day, he woke up and suddenly found himself in a parallel world!

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.”