This Ninja Is Obviously Not Strong but Really Hard to Kill - Chapter 457: A Surprise at the Arena!

Jiang Chen, son of the Heavenly Emperor, unexpectedly reincarnated into the body of a despised young noble, thus embarking on the path of the underdog trouncing all commoners. No one has the right to call himself a genius in front of Jiang Chen, as no one has a better understanding of the heavens than the son of the Heavenly Emperor. “Genius? He who adheres to me shall ascend. Those who oppose me can find solace in hell!’

Everyone had the right to choose his or her life. Maybe many people wanted to live an ordinary life, but Qin Sheng didn’t want to be a mediocre man. He had practiced martial arts under the guidance of his grandfather in the Zhongnan Mountains since he was a child. After two years’ wandering life, he decided to settle in Shanghai, so he contacted Han Guoping, a rich businessman, and took the job as his daughter’s safeguard. He thought that he only needed to protect Han Bing. However, things seemed more complicated. He got to know that Han Guoping offended a powerful figure and his life might be in danger. What would Qin Sheng do to help the Han family? Would he turn the tables?

Lee Jae-hoon, who had lived his entire life with a dirt spoon, opened his eyes again, which he had briefly closed in the library due to overwork, and he became the eldest son of the greatest conglomerate family in ancient Rome.

A new life started once again. This time, he decided he was going to live a good life not having to worry about money. But fate had something else in mind.

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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.”