The Hero King, Reincarnate to Master the Art of War ~And Thus, I Became The Strongest Knight Disciple (♀) in The World~ - Chapter 367: Year-Old Inglis and The Meaning of Matchmaking (19)

Everything has to be studied to understand its meaning.

The traveler Chiba Shiroishi picked up a book called “The Will of Fire”.

When I opened it, the things on it had no nourishment, and the history of Konoha Village had no age, but the words ‘Will of Fire’ were written on every slanted page.

Shiraishi couldn’t sleep, so he took out the book “The Will of Fire” and read it carefully in the middle of the night, only to see the words in the cracks. The whole book was written with two words – pyramid selling!

Shiraishi felt hesitant and fearful for a while, and he decided that sooner or later, he must escape from this MLM brainwashing organization called Konoha!

(PS: Anime, Doujin, Naruto, Slow Heat, Not Brainless, Pseudo-Invincible)

- Description from novelbuddy

Village doctor Zhang Xiaoshan attained a variety of Divine Skills.Mind-reading, treasure appraisal, and miraculous healing, he became capable of everything.

Gu Shanhai saw the great world of the heavens, and took the life of the third life.

The gods of the world forged an eternal Utopia with blood and fire.

The Red Dragon King led his knights to inspect the dynasty on which the sun never sets.

Scholars talked and laughed and swung their swords to draw thousands of miles of rivers and mountains, and strange demons opened their eyes and clawed to give birth to ghosts and monsters.

…

“Everyone is a player, you can’t call me abnormal because I don’t have digitization?”

- 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.”