After I Maxed All My Weapon Proficiencies - Chapter 73 - White Fog City’s Hidden Benefits!

During the summer vacation, sixteen nieces came to Luo Feng’s house to play together, but they couldn’t go back when the city was closed.

He silently calculated that the 16 nieces had to eat 16 catties of rice, 8 catties of meat and 20 eggs a day.

Total other consumption, need 3000 yuan per day.

Just when he was trembling, Uncle Shenhao’s system descended!

Just pet your niece to get rewards!

Explode the street with my niece, reward: an extended version of Rolls Royce.

Take your niece to the supermarket, reward: 30 million supermarket coupons.

Take your niece to eat out, reward: 100% shares in Dihao Hotel.

Teach my niece to write, reward: a house in the school district.

Book a movie theater for my niece, reward: shares in Yida Company!

Hold a luxurious birthday party for your niece, reward: the design drawing of the world’s strongest aircraft carrier!

With this system, I take my 16 nieces everywhere to eat, drink and have fun every day.

Accidentally, he became the richest man in the world…

- Description from novelbuddy

It’s the vacation of a lifetime, a trip to a remote island filled with geniuses and murder.

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.”