The Seven Sisters and Their Hidden King - Chapter 122 – A Powerful Counterattack

Suddenly becomes a mafia boss in a superpowers world and you are only 3 years old?! Ainsley Sloan, a 20-year-old avid anime lover, suddenly transmigrated into a body of a toddler. The father eloped with a woman, and the mother was just a surrogate mom. The two left behind their 3-years-old baby girl to rule over a mid-sized mafia family!No, this can't be! Ainsley was forced to embrace the abandoned Sloan Family and bring their family to the top of the dangerous mafia world– else she died. But, worry not! With the power of ultimate luck, the help of her loyal subordinates, and the protection of her cats-becoming-human, Ainsley will kick any enemies coming her way! A late encounter with a certain system even paved a flowery path for her. With its help, Ainsley will be the best mafia boss, and an extraordinary one! When other mafia bosses smoke cigarettes, Ain has choco Pocky stuck in her mouth. When other bosses swirl their glass of red wine, Ain blows her cup of hot milk! When other bosses blow their gun after a fight...Ain changes her diaper. Watch the baby take over the mafia world with her unique baby charm! 7 years later. A certain shrewd mini boss: "Ain, how about becoming my fiancee?" The boy five years older than the toddler waved a limited edition BL pillow case as a bribe. A certain system: kiddo, accept his proposal! sucks his money! Wtf you two. Fiancee your a*s!! I'm only 10!

A relentless young man, a shadow of a dragon soul sword, a legendary immortal saga.Who will be the peak in the battle for imperial supremacy, only I, Lin Xuan, despise all living!

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.”