The Boss Behind The Game - Chapter 15

Lu Xuanji transmigrated to the Zifu Realm and realized that cultivation was an arduous journey.Due to the monopoly of resources, the strong grew stronger while the weak turned weaker. His clan was in a difficult situation. As he munched on cold, leftover food, he thought of the pathetic situation that his clan was in.Thankfully, his cellphone transmigrated along with him.The File Manager app, which could store a large amount of information, was used to store 10,000 scrolls of martial arts techniques.The Fortune Reading app, which could analyze information input, was used to deduce future events and break down martial arts techniques.Google Maps, which showed panoramic views of different terrains, was used to locate enemies and identify spots for minerals.The Phone Banking service allowed him to exchange currency for spiritual stones.The mobile game, Orchard, allowed him to get spiritual fruits by planting trees.As such, Lu Xuanji led his clan to rise up to the pinnacle of life.

The maniac who was crazy about all kinds of fields such as military and steampunk had been reincarnated.

However, his father was King Sejong the Great?

The mania-wise king and his crazy maniac son.

Along with the ministers, and countless humans who were getting exploited.

Even today, the night of Joseon was filled with the light of overtime.

Eight hundred years ago, Xie Lian was the Crown Prince of the Xian Le kingdom. He was loved by his citizens and was considered the darling of the world. He ascended to the Heavens at a young age; however, due to unfortunate circumstances, was quickly banished back to the mortal realm. Years later, he ascends again–only to be banished again a few minutes after his ascension.

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.”