Nine Heavenly Star Art - Chapter 15: Advancing to the Sixth Stage!

“If I have to modify my status then I would start with my two wishes: Strength and women.” “99 points to strength and with it I would fulfill my first wish, and not only that, but by using my strength I will be able to obtain a lot of money and, with it, women.” “[Reset Status Points]” “Mentally pressing the reset button changed all my status points to just one attribute…” “ntelligence!” “I’ll tell you why you should keep that slave for me until I buy her…” “Feeling smarter than ever I used every possible argument to convince the slave dealer not to sell that slave until I had the money to buy her. After all…” “That slave is not only beautiful, she also has [Masochist] in her state!” “I must buy her!”

Several hundred thousand players are trapped in a gritty zombie apocalypse survival game just after game launch. There are hints that deaths in the game might be serving some other terrible purpose in the background of reality…

The main character, Liu Gan, is a quadruple amputee in real life. A quirk in the server code recognized his prosthetic limbs as ‘real limbs’ in game, giving him ‘normal’ arms and legs that nonetheless have the strength and power of steel limbs, and thus far more power than a normal player. With this minor cheat helping him survive the early stages of the game, Liu Gan sets out to find out what exactly is going on, and to endure as long as he can.

- Description from Novelupdates

He was the one who would become the greatest monarch in history.

“The spot you had climbed once, there’s nothing you can’t climb again.”

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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.”