PREVIEW

... al guests have not left.

"No, it’s such a night, why haven’t you gone yet?" At the door, the restaurant had no guests, and the mother was dragging the mop with the mop, and the smell of wine and vomit was faint in the air.

In this era of no air fresheners, what the mother can do is to open the windows and doors, hoping that the evening wind will bring fresh air.

When I saw my second son coming in, the mother straightened up and asked, "How come back so late? Have you eaten?" ...

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A young man sat on a chair and looked out at the ocean. With one wisp of Spirit Qi, he could point anywhere on this vast and expansive world, pointing at any place that didn’t look right.

Someone once became the last one to wield a knife that could decapitate huge dragons and bathed in dragons’ blood. Someone once loved treating others to chicken soup, so he kept nine phoenixes in his backyard.

Someone once sat lazily on the top of mountains as his words flooded river banks, and his qi could hold a million soldiers back. Someone once moved mountains and shifted hills with just one brush, his paintings so captivating it could enchant immortals and deities.

That year, the warmth of spring made the flowers bloom. They were merely an ordinary butcher, a bookworm, a chicken farmer and a poor artist. This is the story of how a Low Level Martial World Continent was transformed into the Ultimate Fantasy Universe.

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Luis, a poor 17-year-old boy, tries his luck at becoming an Awakener to change his fate. However, his dreams are shattered when he fails to awaken a Special Spirit and is instead saddled with a 5 million dollar debt by their planet's colonizers, the Flying Star Empire.His life seemed doomed—until a mysterious system suddenly appeared in his head: The Monster Transformation System. It gave him the power to transform into any monster or animal he had ever seen.From a cat to an eagle, even a horse, Luis begins to understand that his power may not come from Spirit... but from the ability to become any monster.

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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.”