Holding On to My Man - Chapter 68

His name is Gao Yang (高阳), not a lamb (羔羊: gāo yáng), okay! If a gentle sheep gets upset, it will bite. Believe it or not!

Gao Yang a sheep in wolf’s clothes: Don’t come again! Otherwise, I will be rude!
Qin Shaoyan: Oh? Why not?
Gao Yang: I… I… won’t cook for you!
Qin Shaoyan: It doesn’t matter, just eat you.
Gao Xun: What if Dad dies after being eaten by Father? Waiting online, urgent!

- Description from Novelupdates

My name is Qin Jue. At only 16 years of age, I'm already the youngest person to ever become an uncle-grandmaster in the Xuanyi Mountain Sect.Also, I'm the strongest being in this entire world!But unlike other transmigrators, I want nothing to do with the outside world and wish to live a leisurely life on a cliff behind the sect, sipping wine and singing songs.That is until one day, a mysterious girl appears in front of my yard…Join Qin Jue as he deals with sneaky sects and greedy, hostile clans, all while raising a "weed" to sentience and creating heaven-defying spirit-energy "guns".

[Congratulations! You have acquired the Fenrir system.]

[Congratulations! You have become the incarnation of the End!]

Erik kept an inquisitive look at the window suspended before him, unable to comprehend the magnitude of what was happening. Before him unfolded a strange system, now active, linked to the legendary beast, Fenrir.

The floating window seemed oblivious to mundane concerns. Just as he had read earlier, it had awakened an enigmatic system linked to the mythical creature, Fenrir.

However, with this mysterious system granting him the power of “The End”, Erik embarks on a journey into a world where dungeons and beings from mythology coexist.

Join Erik on this thrilling adventure as he embarks on a journey to become an unparalleled presence.

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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.”