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... ck in the Supreme sacred land, she had sensed that ye chen was a sly person who could always find some unorthodox methods.


“There will be a way!” Ye chen said with a smile.

!!

other than simply storing divine blood, the Holy Blood magic bottle can also make divine blood gentler. Although it’s only effective for mysterious level divine blood, it’s still very rare! Paragon Linglong said. This was also the reason why she wanted to obtain the Holy Blood demonic bottle.


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What does it feel like to find yourself inside the novel of an author you hated? How will you survive in a world that's filled with cliché? Well, something similar happened here.

Once there was an unpopular fantasy novel author. His life was pretty messed up—no, he made it messed up. And remember I said messed up, not sad.

Due to certain reasons, he ended up never having the life that an average teenage boy should have.

But soon he was freed from that life as he died due to a lovey-dovey couple. He was freed but he had regrets…after all, he didn’t make his life that way because he wanted to.

The things he did were the result of his condition and impulses.

It seems luck was on his side at that moment, seconds after he closed his eyes and died, those eyes opened again but this time they were gazing at a world different from his old one.

He got a second chance! Now he will live a new life, a life he wanted to live! This time he can live, grow old, and then die in a “normal” way! The way things should have happened in his former life.

Though it turns out he also had a good amount of bad luck on his side as well.

Later he found out that the world he reincarnated in was the same as the novel of an author he hated the most. The only person he never wanted to talk to again…he was reincarnated inside that very person’s novel.

This is his story! The story of the man who was known by the name “Zero” in his second life. The story of how he survived without plot armor in a world filled with cliché situations, only in the favor of the MC of that novel.

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What is worse than being the worst team in the world?

For Dave Richards that was a very easy but heartbreaking question to answer, a goalkeeper who performed poorly between the sticks, he was still available as a first-choice goalkeeper because Unique FC didn't have any other goalkeeper.

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The only way that Unique FC was able to survive taking in a massive goal-fest sometimes was because of the extra effort they put in their defence.

After a terrible match in which Dave wasn't able to make any saves and also made a lot of mistakes, he was seriously scolded by the managerial staff and almost received a beating from his angry teammates.

He got home sad and also angry at all those who told him he looked like his grandfather and would therefore inherit his goalkeeping skills.

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He found the box to be quite familiar and when he opened it the last thing he saw was a bright white light when the light was gone he could see something in his field of vision.

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[ You have activated the Goalkeeping system ]

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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.”