Reborn in the 70s: Pampered by Regiment Commander - Chapter 107 - 92: The Origin of Cabbage Head Gang

Chu Huai was parasitized by a ghost, he became weak and frail, soon afterward he died.

After entering the horror world, Chu Huai was harmoniously transformed into a man in women’s clothes.

On the first day of the instance. Everyone stares blankly at Young Lady Huai, who was holding the quilt calmly climbed onto the man’s bed: “I’m a little afraid of the dark and ghosts, can I sleep with you?”

Jin Tianyi: “…” I’ll pretend not to know that you are a man.

- Description from Novelupdates

Karl transmigrated into a new world, and once he reached the age of 18, the day of the profession awakening ceremony came.In this world, your strength and profession determined everything about your life, with no second chances.And with nobody to support him, it was make or break for Karl.Yet, once his turn arrived, and he closed his eyes...He woke up in a strange and unfamiliar place.[Welcome to the Spirit Cemetery]A skeletal figure appeared before his eyes: it was death, revealing itself to him.“What the...”But before he could even understand the situation he was in, he heard a notification.Ding![You have awakened the EX-Rank profession “Spirit Summoner”][This is your Spirit Cemetery, find a way to fill it.]

"I want to run away from everything."

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.”