Absolute Sovereignty - Chapter 33: What it Was

Marauders shot Yuan in the head and buried him in a ditch. They thought it would be enough to put him down. They were wrong.Rising from the dead by the will of the Gun, demigod of revenge and firearms, Yuan only has one goal in mind: track down his murderers across the Unmade World and slaughter every last one of them. With the bullet-core stuck in his skull marking him as a Gunsoul, he can finally teach these arrogant cultivators a lesson they’ll never forget.But revenge isn’t so easy to claim. To carve out a path through the wasteland, Yuan will have to face power-hungry sects, nuclear cultivators, and weapon-gods. Let them come. No one will bury him again.He’ll give them all a taste of Bullet Hell.

Since I regressed, I decided not to hide my abilities.“Hypnosis, huh? That’s amazing! Hypnotize me too!”“How about me, instead of that sly fox? If you join our clan… you, you can hypnotize me!”…Maybe I exposed it too much.

Junseo thought he was just installing a chill farming sim to de-stress after another soul-sucking shift in Seoul. Grow some crops, raise a few cows, maybe romance an NPC—simple stuff.Then he woke up inside the game.In a new body. In a suspiciously sexy world.With a system that thinks “breeding” is more important than breathing.And a robot waifu guide who takes everything way too literally.Now he's stuck in a countryside hellhole with zero skills, zero tools, and a suspicious loaf of bread. His only goal?Survive without accidentally triggering a hentai side quest.Too bad the game has other plans.Too bad the villagers are way too friendly.Too bad the only way to unlock skills... is by combining everything.He just wanted to grow carrots.Now he might end up marrying half the village.Tags:Transmigration,Harem (slow burn),Comedy,Slice of Life,Farming Sim,Adult Themes (18+),System,Self-aware Protagonist,Kingdom Building,No Overpowered Skills,Robot Waifu,Skill Fusion and Lewd but Smart

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.”