Lackey's Seducing Survival Odyssey - Chapter 7: Does he swing that way?

Throughout heaven and earth, I alone am powerful

Is it wrong to face the perils of Dungeon alone, in a single-member guild blessed by a failed goddess? Maybe.

Is it wrong to dream of playing hero to hapless maidens in Dungeon? Maybe not. After one misguided adventure, Bell quickly discovers that anything can happen in the labyrinth-even chance encounters with beautiful women.

Only problem? He’s the one who winds up the damsel in distress!

Chen Yuan, a government official in Ping’an County, came across, with an altar of luck hidden in his mind.

As long as you sacrifice luck, you can get the guidance of heavenly secrets, supernatural powers, exercises, sorcery, treasures of heaven and earth…

There are immortals, Buddhas, and demons in this world, as high as temples and as far away as rivers and lakes.

There are three thousand sword immortals who control the sword in the sky, there are Buddhist arhats holding the sky with one finger, and there are rivers and lakes…

It was the worst of times, and it was the best of times.

My name is Chen Yuan, from the abyss!

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Killing decisively, there is already a 2 million word old book “Martial Arts Beginning from Bandits” Welcome to read

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”