Frostfire Legacy - Chapter 317 Wrong Guess

The tomatoes and potatoes are piled up in the warehouse, the dead horses are squeezing the milk, the vampires are carrying the watermelons, the succubuses are picking the eggplants, and the Lich King is quietly licking the ice cream…

The people who died in the crown pointed to the tribes:
Let the dead be born, and let the dead die!

(This book is based on the dungeon and the Warriors, Warcraft, heroes invincible, riding and cutting, and another million finished “Wasteland Ranch” character guarantee)

- Description from Uukanshu translation

[R18 novel with a lot of sexual content]Artem never expected to take on the role of a villain, let alone transmigrate between harem novels. Bound by a system, his task is clear: steal the heroines from all the protagonists’. From Chinese Cultivation and Korean Gate to Japanese Isekai Fantasy, VRMMORPG, and beyond—no heroine is off-limits, and no protagonist is safe!

Li Quangqing traversed to the cultivation world and became a family fisherman, starting with twenty acres of fish ponds.Unexpectedly, every time spiritual fish were harvested, a reward orb could be obtained.[Harvested one adult big green fish, received a lower-grade water arrow talisman!][Harvested one adult iron bone crab, received the “Gengjin Sword Technique”!][Harvested one adult longevity turtle, received the “Gui Sui Shou” pill, prolonging life by twenty years!]...Since then, Li Quangqing watched the tides rise and fall in the world, the wind and clouds changing, wanting only to raise fish and become immortal peacefully.Until thousands of years later, a certain Water Virtue True Immortal appeared out of nowhere, shaking the immortal realm, capable of covering the sky with one hand.“Since the Milky Way is also a river, it's okay for me to use it for fish farming, right?”

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.”