The Days of Being the Richest Man in the Ninja World - Chapter 8. A Fat Sheep for Others to Fleece

Because of boredom, Xu Jinyi entered a game. In this game called “Different Worlds”, he needed to play some cannon fodder or villain to live a happy new life.

Xu Jinyi worked hard to finish the game, and finally realized that this game was actually a scam created by Zhao Chengli specifically for him.

- Description from Novelupdates

One day, Yoichi who grew up while not knowing his parents has received the news of his father’s death. His father left behind a testament——which said he is to pick only one out of five ‘little sister candidates’?!

Li Chengfeng, a scientific research genius of the 21st century, traveled through the Tang Dynasty and turned into Li Shimin’s six-year-old son?

  In the god-given god-level bear boy system, Li Chengfeng grabbed Li Shimin’s beard and started mad at Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui, but there was nothing they could do about it.

  Li Chengfeng used his genius scientific knowledge to solve natural disasters by diverting water from the south to the north, and the hybrid rice developed by him can produce 2,000 catties per mu.

After destroying the Turks and subduing Goguryeo, Li Chengfeng was conferred the title of God King of the Tang Dynasty at the age of six.

It can be said that Mo Chou has no confidant in the future, who in the world does not know the king?

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”