After the True Heiress Travels Back - Chapter 339: Promoted to the Third Disciple

Jiang Chen had unexpectedly found himself thrust into a world of cultivation, stepping into the role of a core disciple within a famed sect. Fated to be the villain, his future loomed with calamity. He had plotted against the protagonist, crippling his dantian and leaving him a disgraced outcast teetering on the edge of expulsion. Were it not for an unexpected twist, Jiang Chen’s part might have ended as a mere footnote in the protagonist’s glorious tale. Fully aware of his precarious position, Jiang Chen’s lips curled into a sly grin. Alone, he mused: ’Is the protagonist powerful? Without a doubt.’ ’But will I tremble in fear? Absolutely not.’ ’Why? Because I have the Immortal Great Villain System!’ ’Wait... there’s more than one protagonist?’ ’Well, isn’t that just perfect?’ With a determined glint in his eyes, Jiang Chen declared to himself, ’As the ultimate Great Villain, I will defy the will of Heaven and seize my place at the summit!’

Wang Jin found a beautiful drunk mixed-race boy on the side of the road. He looked pretty at night and couldn’t help bringing him home and sleeping with him. When he woke up the next day, he found out that the beauty was a minor.

This is the story of two people who met by chance, their lives turning from narcissism and selfishness to falling in love with each other’s trivialities.

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”