I Just Want to Freeload on Your Luck - Chapter 67.2

Yasuo Zoldyck, an assassin who was once a biologist seeking to extinguish the limits set upon him- To no avail.

Now, in a world where the impossible is possible, how far will his researching mind push him? Can he break those limits?

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Zhao Chuchu was reborn in a time before the apocalypse. As soon as the space was filled with supplies, something fell from a high altitude and killed her. Then, she transmigrated, becoming a small villager in an unknown dynasty. She started this new life by taking out the natives, dealing with the plague, and becoming a divine doctor in one fell swoop. Using her fists, she gained high status. She bullied those scums until they cried for their mommy and begged for mercy. She produced large quantities of rice, beans, and sweet potatoes… She could do everything, and she earned a lot of money with that. Everyone watched as she reconciled with Xiao Xiucai. They watched until a baby was born, as well as until Xiao Xiucai became the top scholar and smoothly became the Chief Minister. Then, everyone waited for the day the Chief Minister would divorce his wife, who went through hardships in life with him. They waited and waited until the couple had grown old, the two living together for the rest of their lives.

Cultivating immortality was too hard, with no Spiritual Root, Wang Ba accepted his lot in life.

He chose to join a Sect, becoming a servant in charge of raising chickens.

But the moment he touched a chicken, he realized that his path to immortality might be a little different!

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.”