MTL - Data Cultivation System - Chapter 827 : The three-nation alliance carves up Daqin

Long Fei, a cross-timer and doujin, is an otaku who traveled to another world. In the original world, he was an otaku fan of Gundam and military science fiction.

He died in an accident and was reincarnated into another world. The Gundam works he had read before his death and the techniques in various military novels could be brought to another world.

How would he use the Gundam that Long Fei created? What waves can be caused in this different world?

The spring fountain town of miracle that heals anything, Polka. In the hometown of memories, with my dear parents, there was a figure of a half-elf girl who swore to become my female slave.

Repeating such a memorable talk every time he drinks alcohol, 25 years old Andy Smeyson is a former blacksmith’s apprentice and an innocent crossbow soldier. Andy is surrounded by nice companions and competent and sexy bosses, which is different from what he had thought when he was a child, but this was a cozy life. When the half-elf girl suddenly appeared in front of him, he will jump into a furious destiny. Andy, who is weak but courageous​ and clever will meet a lot of different race ladies such as elves, half elves, dark elves, loli dwarves, dragon girls, beast girls and make them his female slaves one after another. The horny adventure started from a half elf girl who doesn’t stop liking him will eventually become a legend ──.

Lin Qian and Zheng PingQing, two people who have wanted to kill each other for many years, fell in love. After a lot of ups and downs, they finally married.

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.”