Can a Scholar Be Called a Villain - Chapter 29Book 2: : Fortuity under the swamp

Drunk, I lie on the lap of a beauty; awake, I command the power of the world.From being unknown to dominating the world, when Lin Fan looks back on the path he has traveled, it is all laid out by beautiful women!

One generation’s God King, Tang San, roams the cosmos with a trace of divine consciousness, searching for the world where his wife was reborn. Guided by his divine consciousness, he arrives to a place known as the Daemon Continent. However, to his astonishment, he discovers that in this world, humans are nothing but s*aves and cattle.

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Step inside if you dare, but be warned—this is no ordinary shop. Those who enter never leave the same… if they leave at all. A sinister force lurks within, fueled by a dark past and a thirst for revenge. The price? Twelve lives for twelve sins. As officials race to put an end to the bloodshed, the shop’s deadly grip tightens, claiming innocent victims one by one. Will anyone uncover the truth before it's too late? If you crave spine-tingling horror, heart-pounding thrills, and a mystery that refuses to stay buried, this book will haunt you long after the last page.

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.”