Little Sorcerer, Divine Doctor - Chapter 953 - 105: The Moment of Reunion

Ye Lingchen flips through the “Book of Mathematics”, then solves the world’s ten most difficult problems.

Ye Lingchen flips through the “Book of Language and Literature”, then creates the world’s ten most famous books.

Ye Lingchen flips through “The Art of Acting”, then becomes the king of the silver screen.

Ye Lingchen flips through “Military Boxing”, then becomes invincible.

Ye Lingchen flips through the “Book of Changes”, damn, he ascended to immortality…

- Description from Novelupdates

Jiang Chen transmigrates into a different world which is full of monsters and demons. And through Class Transfers, humans could clear dungeons, level up by slaying Monsters, gain experience, and enhance their strength to protect their homeland.Jiang transfers to a D-level swordsman and awakens a system.【Hundredfold increase ····· Amplification successful】【Sword Qi Surging Amplification loading ····· Amplification hundredfold】“Is he really a swordsman? Why can his Sword Qi reach a terrifying 40 meters?”“He definitely isn't a swordsman, his Sword Qi can defend automatically.”“What the hell is True Qi?”

“He who bears the light of heaven and the rage of hell shall decide the fate of gods and beasts alike.”When the world shattered and stars fell from the heavens in blinding storms, a child was born—cursed with the power to either end the eternal war or bridge the gap between heaven and hell.Now, hunted by gods and worshiped by shadows, he must choose which side of his soul will burn brighter - light of heaven or fury of hell.

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.”