I Became The Academy’s Blind Swordsman - Chapter 2

Yang Yi crossed over the world with a storage space with him. He ended up in some desolate wilderness populated by flying beasts and dangerous predators and also crawling poisonous bugs and snakes. To prevent getting bitten in the ass by venomous bugs when going to the toilet, let the great infrastructure begins –
Our goals are:
Eat well till full stomach.
Having clothes to wear but also being good looking.
To have a house that could cover all seasons.
Roads that leads to every place; develop agriculture, industry and commerce together.
No shortage of both material and spiritual needs.
He was DETERMINED to build a safe, comfortable and prosperous modern city in the wild world together with the native tribe with max efforts.

- Description from Novelupdates

I possessed a third-rate villain who died in every route of my favorite game.

But I want to live.

Lu Zhiguang is not a cannon fodder himself, but his mission is to save the miserable cannon fodder.

A businessman who lost in a business game. A teenager who kept silent under school violence. The actor whose road to fame was ruined by cyber violence. An unknown man who was misunderstood until the day he died.

There can only be one protagonist in every world, so fate hides in the corner sending it’s cold tentacles toward the innocent.

Some people stay silent, some choose to compromise, some are unwilling, and some are fulfilled.

There should always be individuals to hug them.

So the Lu Zhiguang went to hug.

Then people will not let go.

- 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.”