This Martial Saint's Health Bar is Too Thick! - Chapter 363 - 82: Wu’an Guard

Wang Ling is a cultivation genius. Since a year old, he managed to achieve a new cultivation realm in every a couple of years. With the power beyond his own control, he became nearly invincible being.

Wang Ling is sixteen years old now and he has to face one of the gratest battle he never faced before, Senior High School. There are so many challenges popping up. Therefore, Wang Ling’s plans for a low-key school life become further away every time.

Wang Ling: “I just want to eat my crispy noodle snacks in peace..”

Father Wang: If you’re careless enough to destroy the country, it’s coming out of your pocket money.

Wang Ling: It’s not my fault that the backlash from punching me kills you.

Wang Ling’s appearance is mostly a mystery because he can change his face on a whim based on the current trend to be average. He does have slightly handsome facial features, average build and a crew cut with his dead fish eyes.

Wang Ling is a non-talkative individual who‘s obsessed with being average and not standing out. He tries to avoid troublesome matters yet he still manages to get involved and has also secretly saved the world on numerous accounts. He also lives for and loves his crispy noodles.

Heavenly Eye (King’s Eye)

(Known) Three Thousand Great Spells (not sorted list)

She met Wang Ling on the meet-and-greet for new students at No. 60 High School.

She was elegant, with long hair and fair skin, and wore a tight-fitting white T-shirt, jeans and casual shoes.

Mother of Wang Ling

- Description from Novelupdates

After a night of indulgence, An Ge became pregnant with the powerful and influential Mr. Huo's child.During the pregnancy, the powerful man frequently drew her blood.In order to save her life and protect the child in her womb, she shocked everyone by saying, “Mr. Huo, I'm carrying your child!”The man sneered, “Are you trying to blackmail me or do you wish to die? If so, I'll grant your wish!”Disheartened, she faked her death and fled with the child.Later, that man, who was always cold and harsh to her, knelt before her grave for three days and nights.Later still, word somehow got out that she faked her death, and he became enraged, locking down the globe in a frenzy to find her.Finally, one day, he cornered her at a wedding, furiously roaring, “You can't marry him, I'm the real father of the child!”An Ge squinted and smiled slightly, “Sorry, who are you?”In the time that followed, he humbled himself into the dust, every night kneeling in front of her bed, begging, “Miss An, please marry me.”

Chen Feng, of modern earth, had suffered bad luck since birth. After finding the legendary “lucky artifact,” his bad luck peaked and he became the only person killed in an earthquake. By a twist of fate, he found himself transmigrated into a different and magical world! A world much larger than earth. A world only partially explored due to the dangers within. A world where human civilization centered around genes. In this world, human beings possessed all sorts of abilities due to genetic fusion. Some went on to create world-changing technologies with their mysterious genetic abilities, while others went on to become undefeated genetic warriors with their combat genetic abilities. How will Chen Feng fare in this new world?

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.”