PREVIEW

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The room is dilapidated and sturdy, and the height of the visual observation is no more than two meters. When the man stands up, it always gives the illusion of terror that is about to reach the ceiling.

Fortunately, he bent over most of the time.

The clothes, books, and the like on the ground were picked up by him and placed in the proper position. The whole room became neatly tidy with his movements.

He Wei sat on the bed and casually knocked on Han Zi's original noteb ...

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Li Wen runs a game company on the verge of bankruptcy. This is a world where the game industry is very developed…

The picture quality of games produced by well-known companies is comparable to reality, and each masterpiece is the ninth art carefully crafted.

However, he found that in these games, the main character is strong and the enemy is weak, and the level can be easily passed without thinking…

There is no underworld game in the whole world?

How can I enjoy the ‘joy’ of the game in this way!

It is impossible to obtain real ‘happiness’ for a cool game.

He decided to let the players in this world enjoy the ‘joy’ of the game.

“I don’t know why, this game is obviously so dark, and it’s so depressing to play, but I just can’t stop!”

“Please be a human being!!”

Since then, there has been an underworld game producer in this world.

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That night, she shed off the image of a young maiden’s immaturity, forming a ripple in the deepest parts of the Cold Palace…

That day, she kneeled before him begging for mercy. She didn’t want anything. She only wanted to leave the palace and become an ordinary girl….

A bunch of elegant and good looking heavenly princes. A lowly palace maid with a mind as calm as still water.

If they were to meet, would it be an encounter like dewdrops and the autumn wind or would it be a lament of a country…

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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.”