The Demon Queen's Royal Consort - Chapter 115 - Dungeon - XXIII

If you transmigrate into a cultivation novel, you absolutely have to fight over opportunities with the protagonist! I can’t be Long Aotian, but I can be the female version of him!

Unfortunately, as beautiful of a thought that was, our protagonist was still killed off as a boss by the male lead! Luckily, she reincarnated again and returned to when the male lead was a child! Seeing the little thing, bone thin with a vague hint of domineering flashing on his face, she had two choices:

1. Kill him. See how he’s going to be so overpowered when he’s dead!

2. Take care of him and honorably ask for something in return in the future!

Thinking of the treasures only the male lead could get to, the money crazy her chose to take care of him.

But who would have known that she would accidentally raise this cute and upright little boy into a black-bellied wolf! After he grew up, he used his treasures to seduce her!

“Master, do you want it? Then why don’t you dual cultivate with your disciple?”

Master with tears streaming down her face: If I had known I could get treasures with s*x appeal, why would I have been a boss in my last life!

- Description from Novelupdates

He was persuaded into playing the VRMMO 「Trailblazer」 or TB for short by his cheerful childhood friend Miyu.

But Wataru faced Miyu, who was full of motivation and said this.

「Then, I’ll be the rearguard. Shinto priest? I’ll take this one」

「What!? You are not going to fight next to me!? And you call yourself a man!?」

For some time she would become one of the top players and start getting called Hero.

So Wataru had to deal with being an extra.

But, during a certain PvP event, a strange nickname was attached to Wataru.

That, he was actually the 「Hero’s true self」.

He transmigrated and got a system but Lin Feng’s pressure is as big as a mountain.

It was understood that this was a capitalist country, where the possession of the greatest amount of capital determined to whom the nation effectively belonged.The smile that had been resting on William Sheffield’s face was abruptly erased as his expression turned cold. In a tone laced with determination, it was demanded by him that the police be contacted immediately so that they could crush those who stood in their way. The reasoning behind his words seemed clear: if such actions had been taken before by someone like Rockefeller, then why should it not also be possible for Sheffield?A sense of irony hung in the air as the sentiment was expressed—this was America, where each day seemed to unfold as though it were part of an ongoing shootout, with battles fought not just with guns but with power, influence, and wealth.