The Life of Lust Demon - Chapter 70 Frostfang Encounters

Kivas Chariot is struck by the sun—an event that corrupts her soul beyond repair.In the blink of an eye, she's transported into the midst of a cosmic ritual, performed by three eldritch beings beyond comprehension.Overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of their presence, her fractured soul erupts in a desperate tantrum, shattering the terrifying rite.Yet beneath their monstrous forms, one of the entities reaches out to her gently—soul to soul—and asks a simple, warm, and comprehensible question.“What is it you truly desire?”Tears welling, Kivas whispers from the depths of her being.“I want to be loved!”The entity grants her wish.But not directly.Now, somehow awakened in a strange new world, Kivas discovers something bizarre—there are stats, HP, MP... even classes and skills.In a world where time matter less and power are more rampant, Kivas attempts to strive and live her brand new life.

Chu Chen brought the temple in his heart to the Dachang Heavenly Dynasty and worshipped the Taoist gate.

Refining alchemy inside, repairing talisman outside;

Reciting sutras and convincing the spirit, fasting ceremony.

Palm thunder method, pinch sword art, step on Yu step, pray for sunshine and rain, call gods to send generals, relieve Erdu people, cut demons and demons…

- Description from novelbuddy

In the Canglan Continent, there existed a rule: only those who managed to awaken a Martial Spirit were able to pursue the path of cultivation, and a Martial Spirit’s rank was determined when it was awakened. Born in Linshui City, Qin Nan was a peerless genius who possessed great talents and was highly anticipated to become a great cultivator in the future. However, things changed when he ended up awakening the lowest-grade Martial Spirit, resulting in him being considered trash.

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.”