Don't Heal the Others - Chapter 147 Meet Offline

The day Louis discovered his girlfriend's betrayal, he died from a gunshot wound to the head. Fortunately, fate smiled on him and allowed him to be reincarnated in a magical world as the youngest son of an SSS-class family.That same day, he awakened his Class—an event that should have marked the beginning of his rise.Instead, it marked his downfall.[Ding! You have awakened an SSS-Rank Class.][Class: God of Money][Rank: SSS]A god? Yes, that's beautiful. But a god of money? In the eyes of his proud family, that title was a joke—an insult. The weakest, most useless Class imaginable.So, they banished him, stripped him of the family name, and cast him aside without a second thought.But they were unaware of his skill, abilities, and the potential that money could bring.He smiled as he saw himself banished and looked at the system.“If you fire me, it's okay. I'll keep creating missions even if I end up in a garbage dump, and I'll come back for your heads someday.”Two system messages flashed before him.[Your actions generate money, and money makes you stronger.][You have the ability to create missions.]Under the influence of his newly acquired Class, he will delve into all the magical paths this world offers, become embroiled in political intrigue, and conquer kingdoms on his own.“Money? I'm the God. Women?” That's fine—I have plenty.

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.”

In a world where strength is law and the weak are trampled, Ezra Cain was destined for nothing—crippled, abandoned, and left to rot. But when death comes knocking, something awakens within him.[Primordial Evolution System Activated.]A forgotten power lost to time, capable of infinite growth, limitless evolution, and ultimate domination. From the ashes of his former self, Ezra begins his ascent—devouring monsters, absorbing abilities, and forging a path no being has ever walked. But power comes at a cost.Ancient gods stir in fear. Forbidden realms tremble. The strongest beings in existence move to eradicate him before he reaches his full potential. But Ezra is no pawn in their game—if the gods wish to stop him, then he will do what no one has dared before.He will evolve beyond them. He will devour them. He will become the first Primordial Overlord.The age of gods is over. His reign begins.

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”