Daoist Master Of Qing Xuan - Chapter 603 - Back to The God Temple Again

Have you often come across a game where you start with a bonfire, surrounded by ice and snow, with resources all manually transported, and monsters attacking at any time...Xia Hong wakes up to find himself in such a world.The ice and snow rage on, beasts rule the land, civilization is lost, and all people and things that once existed have been invaded into powerful and bizarre entities, leaving humans as a humble race surviving in the shadow of winter, on the brink of extinction.Fortunately, Xia Hong possesses a camp system that can upgrade infinitely.[Small Bonfire]—[Iron Furnace]—[Solar Cauldron]...[Wooden Post]—[Training Ground]—[Martial Arts Hall]...[Bamboo Fence]—[Black Soil Wall]—[Iron Wall]...[Monument Stone]—[Notice Board]—[Hero's Monument]......As Xia Hong slays the beasts and exterminates the bizarre entities, gradually gathering humans, dispelling the winter, and opening up territory, the mysterious veil of this world is slowly unveiled in its entirety.

A soul was employed by a higher being to help him manage his world. How will our protagonist live her life to the fullest while also fulfilling her new duties?I don't own Naruto. I adjusted the story to my liking. English is not my main language so don't bother about grammar mistakes too much.

Jin Rou, the youngest Celestial King, was being restricted to go outside by his father for some reasons. Thus, Jin Rou was fed up.

And so, he made his ‘Grand Plan’ of running away.

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.”