Sorcerer: I want to be an Academic Prodigy - Chapter 682 - 649: Embarking on the Journey Home_2

Shao Qing’s only regret in life is that she blindly fell in love with a worthless man. She gave up everything for him, but in exchange was run over by his conniving mistress when she was close to her delivery date. Fortunately, Heaven left her a way. Crimson rain fell from the sky, the end of the world arrived, she resurrected in the morgue and gave birth to a little monster. Turning into a half human, half zombie freak; her son neither human, nor monster; they have no other choice but to rely on zombies’ crystal nuclei to develop their special abilities and continue living. This debt, she’ll definitely repay that cheating couple!

In the aftermath of a tragic incident, the soul of Zhang Fei was transmigrated into a sacred body in a world of cultivation. Joined by the consciousness of an ancient cultivator, Zhang Fei must find a way to survive in this deadly world of beast demons and immortal cultivators.

Lu Zhiguang is not a cannon fodder himself, but his mission is to save the miserable cannon fodder.

A businessman who lost in a business game. A teenager who kept silent under school violence. The actor whose road to fame was ruined by cyber violence. An unknown man who was misunderstood until the day he died.

There can only be one protagonist in every world, so fate hides in the corner sending it’s cold tentacles toward the innocent.

Some people stay silent, some choose to compromise, some are unwilling, and some are fulfilled.

There should always be individuals to hug them.

So the Lu Zhiguang went to hug.

Then people will not let go.

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”