The Chronicles of the Immortal God - Chapter 415: Agriculture

One minute, she was spiraling out of her scooter, watching in horror as her fried chicken flew into the horizon. The next minute, she was signing the contract to become a mother to his sons while staring into his glacier blue eyes.“The contract is effective as of now” He announced, as he dropped the pen. His brow was lifted challengingly and his voice reverberated around the room, bounced and sent zings of electricity down her spine.She tilted her head to a side, studying him covertly as she smiled menacingly. She was going to make him regret his decision.Let the games begin..!

Lin Bei reentered the “Second World” and awakened an SSS-grade talent, the Unlimited Buff.

[Unlimited Buff: SSS-grade. The duration of the buffs that the player has received will not expire.]

With that, Lin Bei embarked on a path of god-sealing.

When he used a health potion, his health would permanently recover by 100 points every second.

When he used the Earth Escape Technique, he permanently gained the effect of Earth Escape.

When he used the Stealth Technique, he permanently gained the ability to stealthily move around.

When he used the Speed Scroll, his speed was permanently increased by 25%.

When he used the Berserk Spell, his critical rate increased by 30%, and his critical damage increased by 100% permanently.

“Hah! With this talent, the world is mine!”

He is an undead who is devoid of all humanity, he is the one and only supreme overlord, he is a man who has severe mysophobia.

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.”