Hades Messenger Is Succubus Master - Chapter 7 Brothel Incident (II)

Chen Miao transmigrated to a supernatural world, where everyone had their own profession, such as “Student”, “Fighter”, “Thief”, and so on.After much contemplation, he activated the “Gunslinger” profession.From then on!While the foreign races brandished their claws to invade, and others tirelessly trained their physical fitness and learned skills.Chen Miao silently ventured into secret realms to collect all sorts of materials, crafting Occupation Exclusive weapons like the “Thompson Submachine Gun,” “Falling Blossom Sniper Rifle,” “Inferno Gatling,” “Matrix Sky-Eye Cannon,” and so on....One day, people suddenly noticed that a very unfamiliar Supernatural Occupation had appeared on the city's Combat Power rankings.And in the crowd.Chen Miao, bare-chested under a black suit jacket with sunglasses on and a cigar in his mouth, held two Inferno Gatlings in his hands, looking up slightly at a group of scoundrels in front of him with the corners of his mouth turned up.“Don't wait for me to stuff the gun barrel in your mouth before you admit you were wrong.”

For the wine to be drunk on her wedding night to actually have been a cup of poison and for the one to poison her to be her husband, who would believe it?

At the beginning, he acquired a piece of land worth billions, but Su Ming used it to cultivate crops!Row after row of cucumbers, plant after plant of chili peppers, shoot after shoot of bamboo shoots… …Everyone couldn’t understand: “Having a billion-dollar land and using it for farming? Su Ming, what’s wrong with you?”Yet, Su Ming just smiled mysteriously.Do you really think, naively, that the cucumbers I grow are just ordinary cucumbers?The joy I find in farming is something you can never imagine!

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.”