MTL - With the Famous Name of the Three Kingdoms - Chapter 547 Criminal army

In the aftermath of a tragic incident, the soul of Zhang Fei was transmigrated into a sacred body in a world of cultivation. Joined by the consciousness of an ancient cultivator, Zhang Fei must find a way to survive in this deadly world of beast demons and immortal cultivators.

For five years, Kian tried to beat End Realms: Arcadia — a brutal fantasy game no one ever cleared.He knew every quest, every secret, every ending.And yet, after countless failures, he died… with only one regret.Then he woke up — not as a hero, but as Luca Valentine, a useless extra doomed to die in Chapter 3.Now, on his 1,432nd try, he can’t afford to die.But Luca knows the world inside out.He thought he knew the story. But the story may know him better.

His muscles screamed, his body begged for rest, his mind ordered him to stop. But Bakugo couldn't. Not while Izuku hadn't arrived. So, he pushed forward. Every explosion, every strike, every movement was pure determination, a reflection of his unwavering will to win.For a moment, he felt beyond himself. Fast. Precise. Almost invincible.And then, in the blink of an eye, everything changed. The battlefield vanished, and the pain ceased.It was in that moment that Katsuki Bakugo understood... he had died.Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, images or songs featured in this fic. Additionally, I do not claim ownership of any products or properties mentioned in this novel. This work is entirely fanfic.

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”