My Dungeons Are Popular - Chapter 15

Kiro is a slave branded with a deadly collar, forced to work in brutal mines under the ruthless Kargal Empire. Each year, slaves are hunted for sport in the deadly Hunting Games—a fight to the death on a savage alien moon. This year, Kiro is chosen to play. Sent into a wilderness filled with monsters and traps, survival seems impossible. But something ancient watches from the shadows—and it has plans for him.

Qiao Yanzhou is a video gaming streamer.

Gu Zixing is a professional gamer.

Qiao Yanzhou is a big fan of Gu Zixing.

Gu Zixing is Qiao Yanzhou’s idol.

Qiao Yanzhou is a quiet fan.

Gu Zixing is a cool and charming man.

Qiao Yanzhou is a couch potato.

Gu Zixing is a world champion.

A ranked game brought the two together, and the chemistry between them takes an unexpected turn…..

Not long after:

Gu Zixing: Xiao-Qiao, am I still your idol?

Qiao Yanzhou: Yeah.

Gu Zixing: Can I kiss you then?

Qiao Yanzhou: Sorry, who did you say you were?

- Description from Novelupdates

In the midst of the blue and purple neon lights, under the gray, metallic sky, it is the frontier of all data, the aftermath of a scientific revolution, also the border of fiction and reality.

Steel versus body; the past and the future.

Here, the Outer World and the Inner World exist alongside each other. It seems like the wall of time is right in front of your eyes.

Darkness gradually swallows the world.

But listen, my friend, we cannot use kindness to survive the darkness. We need fire.

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.”