I Became The Mafia Boss Inside The Novel - Chapter 7: Working Out

After choking to death on a watermelon, Rong Jiahui thought that she would enter the netherworld and be reincarnated.

But when she opened her eyes, she discovered, to her very horror, that she had returned twelve years into the past…

Looking at the beautiful and awkward “little brother” that would be conferred the title of Marshal in the future for outstanding military service, she almost let out a snort of laughter.

She firmly decided to hug the thigh of this little brother, and climb to the top of her life!

The plan was beautiful, but it had just one problem.

Why had this little brother… suddenly turned into…

A little sister…

- Description from Novelupdates

A man from modern with wavy remains is possessing a notorious street mouse and scum, and what is even more tragic is that the scum also intends to commit misdeeds against the butterfly of the Qing Dynasty.

What will happen to him, who is hated by the world, after changing his soul? Once again in the face of him, the extremely disgusted of proud Lin Shixin and Ji Die, after the gorgeous metamorphosis, how does he make them feel?

Let’s see how Ye Chu steps out of shocking footprints on a road full of thorns! Stir the wind and clouds, evil control Monarch!

In a strange way, to create a very different fantasy world, bring everyone different feelings.

- Description from Novelupdates

“If God loved you so much, he wouldn’t have put you against me.”…In the present of this age’s fantasy, what the world needs is not a hero but a priest working part time as a Necromancer.Healing by the day, hunting dark mages by the night, presenting you, Elios, the guy who will solve all your problems by any means as long as you pay him the right.A demon is haunting you? Call Elios. The guards aren’t accepting bribes? Call Elios. Your toilet ain’t getting flushed? Call Elios. There are no limitations to what you can ask.As long as there is a right price, everything is possible. Our dependable priest is capable of any and everything.Ah! Though there is one thing you can never ask him to do.Children.You can’t ask him to hurt them.And perhaps you should never mention anything related to that as well.Or else…Even death would be mercy.…In the World of Zarraf, there lives Gods, not all goods are good and certainly none are without motives.They rule the world’s 7 nations:The Nation of Light and SunThe Nation of WaterThe Nation of FireThe Nation of LifeThe Nation of EarthThe Nation of MoonThe Nation of WindEach ruled by a Goddess that has their own stance in their ruling.But that is only the first page of this world.The second page colors the Ancient Gods of Corruption, Rage, Curse, Death and Hate.The third belongs the Seven Sins’ Incarnations that are ready to succeed the Ancient Gods.The Fourth is of the Witches who stand against all Gods equally.And the Final Page colors the [Immortals] or otherwise known as [Players] that will be summoned to bring Chaos to this world.A World that was meant to be destroyed, such is the fate of the world of Zarraf as powers beyond the realm of mortals threaten the dynamic equilibrium of their existence.In the end, the world was prophesied to be destroyed by one cause or another. Nothing could prevent looming destruction…Or so it was supposed to happen..

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.”