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... k in the Forbidden Room." The Bookkeeper replied.

Then she muttered again a more stern and colder tone: "We are the noble and honorable Fox Clan from the Beast Race, so how could we bend our knees and yield to the Human Race’s request so easily? If those annoying pests want to fight with us, then I will gladly accompany them anytime they want."

"I.... I understand. I... I will convey it to the other elders." The beautiful fox elder replied stutteredly while lowering her head in s ...

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When he woke up, Luochen found that he had crossed over, and he was also carrying a ‘God-level landing system’.

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Everything in this game can be brought to reality.

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The most important thing is that Luochen’s god-level login system can log in to the game a year earlier than others.

one year later……

The people who had just started logging into the game saw that above the sky, Luo Chen was commanding his elf to start a shocking battle with Rift Seat, smashing the sky to smithereens.

Their hearts were surging, and they vowed to become as powerful as this NPC!

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The summer night passed through and passed through the world of Marvel movies!
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“And why is my golden finger a decomposition machine in DNF?”
[Decomposition equipment is successful! 】
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[Decomposition equipment is successful! 】
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The world’s largest VRMMO, Conviction, was almost like a second world for humanity. It had integrated itself into the real world’s economy, with both corporations and individuals seeking their fortunes through the game.

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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.”