Reborn at Boot Camp: General, Don’t Mess Around! - Chapter 4213 - Complain

A person cut down the road of life in troubled times.

Zombie: Roar.

Lin Fan: “Everyone is a neighbor, so why are you so irritable?”

Lin Fan: “I still have to go grocery shopping.”

Lin Fan looked at Xiaoqing who had turned into a zombie: “Xiaoqing, I bought a few bottles of water and have already scanned the code.”

Lin Fan: “Boss, I want to settle the salary.”

Sunshine Community, where Lin Fan lives, countless refugees flocked to seek shelter.

We have to learn from Lin Fan, abide by the law, work part-time to earn money, strive to buy a house and a car, and be an excellent citizen in a city where zombies are rampant.

- Description from novelbuddy

As the Evil Deity of the Earth, the Ruler of the Wasteland, and the Mother of Desolation, Bai Lianyue now finds herself utterly bewildered, pinned down on a bed. Over a decade ago, in a moment of carelessness, she inadvertently ended the life of the Daughter of the Gods. Wracked with guilt, Bai Lianyue took it upon herself to raise the three children the divine daughter had left behind. Her original plan was simple: wait for the children to grow up and…

Introduction: Zhao Si, one of Wall Street’s rising rookies, has been reborn. Knowing the trend of the times, he wants to make his corrupt official father change his ways…

(ps: This story is purely made up, if there is any similarity, it is definitely a coincidence, and it is not aimed at any individual or group organization.)

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”