A Divine Farmer - Chapter 103

Trapped in the unspoken rules, eaten up by the devious boss, he can't stop, and is addicted to tangling with her.Between them, one swears never to yield, and the other insists on conquering.Asher Land swears, his biggest goal in this life is to transform Sophie Smith, the fierce little wild cat with sharp claws, into an obedient pet cat!

“Beast Forge? What the hell is that?”He thought while walking out of the alley. The streets were almost empty, with only the homeless wandering around, picking up anything valuable that was dropped. He walked over to join them, still thinking he needed to do this to survive. But as he bent down, a black screen appeared in front of him, with white text displayed on it.[Beast Forge system activatedUser successfully registeredScanning user... doneUser has not awakened, cannot use Beast Forge.Analyzing for possible solutions.... doneMission: Run 10 km before 00:00Reward: Force awakeningFailure: Loss of the Beast Forge systemWill you accept this mission: YES/NO]

This is an era of national miracles and national adventures.

A gray fog swept the world.

Ghosts, ghosts, ancient gods, extraordinary races, etc., are all over the gray fog.

There are dangers and miracles.

Some items and even creatures invaded by the power of gray fog are called miracles.

Some miracle items can generate ore every day, which is inexhaustible.

Some miracle items can make people stronger even if they lie still every day.

And some, it is possible to create extraordinary warriors in batches.

Bai Ye came through, with a golden finger that could see all the prompts, and got a fire source at the beginning…

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”