The Real Rich Daughter is a Future Genius Scientist - Chapter 337 - : Seventy-Three Points

The summer night passed through and passed through the world of Marvel movies!
“But, it appears directly on the battlefield of the bullets, what is the start?”
“And why is my golden finger a decomposition machine in DNF?”
[Decomposition equipment is successful! 】
[Advanced sniper shooting experience *100]
[Decomposition equipment is successful! 】
[Advanced Fighting Techniques Experience *100]
[Decomposition equipment is successful! 】
[A dazzling battle of souls, can enhance the strength of body attributes! 】
“Can it be better than God?”
[That is just the starting point! 】
“then continue to break down!”
[Decomposition equipment is successful! 】
[Cannot look directly at the exercise *100]
“…”

- Description from Uukanshu translation

In a survival game to select new Gods, mankind is summoned to another world filled with different races.

In Bleach, with mediocre talent, the protagonist has been flatlining for thirty years. But with the sudden completion of the Zanpakuto conception, he has become a “sword person.”Unlimited Blade Works, essentially “unrestricted swords.”Since Soul Society does not allow two identical Zanpakutos to exist, then I just won't use my Zanpakuto, and that should be fine, right?Who is the strongest in the Zanjutsu category: Zangetsu or Zangetsu: Black?Who is the number one in Assassination Techniques: Ichimonji or Suzumebachi?Which is stronger: Kinshara or Senbonzakura?Can the Yami no Tachi Shura and Yami no Tachi Rasetsu compete for the title of the strongest Zanpakuto?Unlimited Blade Works, essentially “swords,” all the “swords” in the world are mine. Yamamoto, even you, the head of the 1st Division, “Black,” cannot take away my “swords.”

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.”