The Daily Life of the Immortal King - Chapter 2175: ,171. He Was A Sword Saint, But He Was Not Just A Sword Saint (1/86)

The first time they meet, she bumps into him. The second time they meet, she agrees to a marriage contract in exchange for his help in her bid for revenge. But… he becomes addicted to loving her.

During his first attempt, he flies a helicopter domineeringly; in his second attempt, he arrogantly removes all his love rivals; in his third attempt, he tries to tie her down using a cute child. Youxuan replies with a plain resounding ‘no’ all three times.

In the end, Shan Hanjie takes one look at her, grits his teeth, and plops onto the ground. “Babe, you dropped your prince charming, please bring him home!”

[sexual content and lemons warning]Warning: Sexual content, lemons, Comedy, MILFs, Genius Mc and his harem.Support the novel by adding to your library and with power stones!!*****Freshly turned eighteen, John Newman, a helpless nerd, suddenly gets video game abilities granted to him. A mysterious higher power, a secret Abyss of magic beneath the surface of the normal world, mages, martial artists, eroticism, tragedy and a harem of hot girls awaits.

A dungeon core novel. But with bees. A bee dungeon, if you will. Oh, and something about a young man finding his place in the world and maybe learning about the deadly calamity that threatens all of humanity. But mostly the bee thing.

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.”