After I Maxed All My Weapon Proficiencies - Chapter 185 - Golden Stage!

Twenty years ago, she was taken in as the Lin family’s young heiress through a twist of fate. But mistakes would eventually be corrected one day. When the real daughter of the family returned and her foster parents begged her to stay, she obliged. Unbeknownst to her, this was actually a scheme disguised as familial affection. They only kept her around to squeeze her dry of all her value!

An RPG gamer who played the realistic VRMMORPG ‘The Amber Sword’ for years, finds himself teleported to a parallel world that resembled the game greatly. He takes on the body of an NPC who was fated to die, and with the feelings of the dying NPC and his own heartrending events in the game, he sets out to change the fate of a kingdom that was doomed to tragedy.

- Description from novelupdates

As soon as Qin Feng opened his eyes, he was horrified to find himself lying in a drafty thatched hut. The problem was that he was still in his villa! What was even more horrifying was that there was another man lying under the blanket next to his legs!

“You, you, who are you?”

The man quietly sat up, exposing his upper body. He looked at him fixedly for a moment, then took a broken bowl from the table by the bed. He said in a muffled voice, “Wife, drink this water.”

Qin Feng rolled his eyes and fainted. Without permission, it is forbidden to reproduce or adapt it. Violators must be investigated.

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.”