Daily Intelligence System: Financial Independence - Chapter 119 - 108: Got It Open! Ao Bing BP Card!

I complained that the play script in this other world was terrible. But then they told me, ‘If you don’t like it, write it yourself.'” I got so mad that I plagiarized the lives of famous people and made them into scripts. ⌠Your Highness, I still have twelve battleships.⌡ ⌠The die is cast.⌡ ……But it ended up being way more popular than I expected. Somebody, help me!!!

[Harem + Mature + Summoning + Diverse Races Harem + Upgrade]Negut has transmigrated, but this time, he never expected that his girlfriend would also come to this world.Not only that, his girlfriend has become one of the most terrifying existences in this post-Apocalypse world, where modern technology is combined with magic.Only having the F-99 rank class, Slime Summoner, the weakest of all classes?What is even more unfortunate is that because he had borne all of his girlfriend’s disabilities in their previous life, in this life, he is a cripple. One leg missing, one eye lost, and his lung function severely impaired.It is fine. Even if he is weak, as long as his harem is strong, that is enough.Blood Dragon - Lilith, Light Spirit - Tanila, The Thorned Seraph - Selviera, Technology Angel - Zariel...While everyone is envying him, he only wants to run away.Because a lemon is only squeezed once before being thrown away, while he is squeezed over and over again.

After thousands of years of silence, the world of cultivation once again welcomed the golden age.

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.”