MTL - The Ultimate Business Lady - Chapter 14 Shy man

To sum up in a sentence, *slag men **washing white daily, transmigrating to different worlds to wash white, and the goal is to become a good man!

Note:
*Slag men refer to men who play with women’s hearts aka scum.
**Washing white means to come clean, fix up your life.

- Description from Novelupdates

“I shall not yield to fate nor destiny. I will create my legacy.” Yang Wei said as he stared at the clear blue sky.

Yang Wei, a mortal who has no background or power to become a cultivator except for his undying determination. An unwillingness to accept his fate as he will break away the chain that casts him behind.

In a world where spiritual qi exists, humans can utilize this power to cultivate and become a legend themselves. However, the path itself is gruesome and achieved through multiple obstacles.

Now it’s the time for Yang Wei to achieve something that no other predecessor has done in the past.

[Warning: Mature content, R18, Harem, Monster Girls, No NTR, No Rape ]He was a prostitute who had a simple dream. Living in peace, going to college and getting a good job like an average man of his age. But when he decided to leave his old life behind and pursue his dream, he was killed by demons.But he got a second chance as a dragon king in a different world. A world filled with monsters and strange tribes that he had never seen before. As the protector of that foreign world, he tried his best to regain his power before the other tribes realized it. Then ... he discovered the secret of the Dragon King's power was he must build a harem ...

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.”