Limitless Evolution: I'm The New Dragon God? - Chapter 4. Ryuzen

Rebirth, wear a little girl, do not have to be noisy, open your eyes and split your home, with a space of spiritual liquid, Lingquan! Make a big profit!

All kinds of essential equipment! However, can you not do so much! The dregs and the mother’s baby are too poor!

Farming must be standard! Can you order less? The environment is not safe! The landlord of the seven disasters is too ‘healing’! Which pro, your good prince is not right, what mess! This is a kind of field text, can’t be a palace! You have fished the world!

- Description from Uukanshu translation

It’s a story that happened long, long ago, in a continent far, far away, about gods and mortals, sword and magic, war and peace, and of course love and hatred.

Amon was a poor miner’s son in a remote town in the kingdom of Hittite. Along with the discovery of a marvelous gem, his fate was changed. People on this land called it Gods’ Tear. But wait, what were the gods? It was said that the gods created the world. Then who created the gods?

Forced by the tantalizing fate, Amon had to struggle to find out the truth behind this world of magic and gods……

- Description from Novelupdates

The first time they met, she said to him, “Mr. Song, I see that you’re I’ll-fates, and I’m afraid that you will die soon. The people around him accused her of being a fraud, and threatened to beat her...

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.”