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... nificant to the star Soul Race, but it was of great significance to the other divine nations and races in the universe.

The star Soul Race was the most powerful race in the universe. When had they ever suffered such a loss?

From the outside world's perspective, the star Soul Clan was afraid!

What was the star Soul Clan afraid of? When facing the human race, the Saint King of the star Soul Clan was only afraid of one person, and that was the human race's Saint Lord!

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As the final dragon lay defeated, Aaran stared at the sky while the rest celebrated.[Awaiting the gods’ response...]He clenched his fists, his heart pounding. A shred of hope flickered in his eyes, only to be extinguished like always.[The attained outcome was deemed unsatisfactory.]Aaran had seen the message for the twentieth time. He had become the gods’ plaything in their desire to witness the “perfect ending”.He regressed once again, but this time as a toddler and charm being the only stat he had.But something was amiss. The world he remembered had changed. Powers that did not exist before had taken hold of the world.Tired of following the traditional route, Aaran chose to fight darkness with darkness… as the gods’ chosen necromancer!

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Ye Yang, a straight man from Northeast China, transmigrated into a novel about court fights, became a concubine, and was bound to a system, which could put on view the favorability score of the main characters.

On condition that the emperor’s favorability score was too high, he’d fall in love with Ye Yang. However, if his favorability score was too low, he’d be mercilessly killed. In order to protect his life and chastity, Ye Yang forced himself to create his own persona, repeatedly switching between the personality of an unrefined man from Northeast China and the first beauty of the harem.

Yet, things were getting worse and worse. At first, he let the favorability score of the dog emperor drop. Later, the score began increasing rapidly. Watching how the favorability score was about to skyrocket, Ye Yang panicked.

He wore a gold chain and raised a mink, silencing all of the imperial concubines of the harem. Feng Luan’s favorability score had been increased by +1.

He had a snowball fight with the dog emperor and pushed him into a snowdrift. Both of them caught a cold. Feng Luan’s favorability score had been increased by +10.

The mink he raised thought out a plan for Feng Luan to renovate the imperial study room worth of more than 10.000 taels of silver. The imperial study was so horrible that one could hardly bear to look at it.

Feng Luan’s favorability score had been increased by +100.

What’s going on! Are you still a straight man!

……

The longer Ye Yang lived in degradation, the more he felt that the dog emperor was different from what he initially thought.

At his feet the ground was covered in blood and bones, but behind him was the delightful scenery of the prosperous world, and the coming of all nations.

A few years later, he helped Ye Yang up the stairs and gazed into the distance. He saw a myriad of twinkling lights, bustling, bright and beautiful.

And Feng Luan whispered in his ear.

“My dear Imperial Concubine, look.”

“This is our country.”

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While Ethan believes he can still manage to live a carefree life, he soon catches the glimpse of some mysteries as well as The Wheels of Fate he is unfortunately entangled with.

Can he Defeat those who mean him harm with the newfound power and his own wit while living a carefree life? Or does Fate have other plans for him?

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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.”