The Son Of Ragnar - Chapter 199 Tyr’s Memories Resurfaces!?

I got sucked into a novel full of villains and must tame them in order to survive!

Never touched a girl for five years, living in isolation, and having no skills or idea to talk to a girl.

Tim never thought he would reincarnate in the game he was working on. Now, he had to go through a life that almost seemed impossible for him.

With the Lust System that he created, Tim was forced into a Murim World where strength was everything. And, the only way he could level up was by getting a new girl by his side.

The skills that he could only buy from real currency can only be accessed through quests now.

Can he survive in this world? Can he live with this new life where he has to touch a woman every day of his life? Can he reach the top of the world with his harem?

“What kind of guardian would you want to be? the one who destroys everything or the one who protects everything?”

Jason, one of the many casualties during a nuclear explosion gets the chance to reincarnate into another world due to his deeds during the war.

He gets tossed to another world due to ending up with the Shadow god as his patron, something deemed impossible.

With a system to guide him in the world of Clover and a family jinxed through the generations, his adventurous life in new world begin.

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.”