A Dragonslayer's Peerless Regression - Chapter 122

Imperial soldier Suldak Helansa joined the infantry regiment of the Grand Duke Newman in Bena province, participated in the Warsaw plane war, and rescued a young man in the forest battle. This qualified young man suffered some injuries. Injured, still a mute, Suldak brought him into the barracks, and what we are telling is the story of this young man of unknown origin…

- Description from novelbuddy

Wang Yi was reborn in a parallel world. Just when he was gearing up for eighteen years to flex his muscles, the belated Golden Finger came online and threw him into a low-magic world for three full years. After learning a lot of magic knowledge in three years, Wang Yi was kicked back to modern times…

What is the combination of magic and technology? Magic technology? Black technology?

The troublesome material science problem was solved, and many mysteries became reasonable after the addition of magic.

However, when Wang Yi just came back, he still decided to use a captured Wraith to knock out an artificial intelligence to be his housekeeper…

Also known as “My Skull Can Turn Screws”, “This is not magic, it’s black technology”, “There is no magic in this world, everyone should believe in science”, “There are no ghosts in the mobile phones I sell”

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The book “The Evil God Is Myself!” has been completed! “, “Infinite Prophet”, “Eye of Breaking the Law” and other works, you can eat them with confidence.

- Description from novelbuddy

Transmigrated in erotic game and having a lot of fun. A lot of R-18 chapter.

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.”