MTL - Shoujo Grand Summoning - ~ 017 What kind of dance is it?

Depressed by life, disappointed with relationships, and piles of regrets, just when Shaan was at the end of his rope, his soul was offered another shot at salvation!Starting afresh in an unfamiliar place, by sheer luck, Shaan stumbled upon a treasure that could help him hop between zombie and cultivation worlds.“There is shortage of food and resources in the apocalyptic world?”-“It’s okay, I will ship them from another world.”“You said, a zombie horde is coming?”-“It’s okay, I shall call my undead legion.”Facing countless vicious zombies alone that could bring goosebumps, Shaan stood defiantly with a crazy greed in his eyes.With amazing new powers….Turning his blissful desires into reality, becoming an overlord overnight, and buying to your heart’s content, Shaan’s new life shall be perfect.And if someone stands against his eccentric dream?Then, Shaan is sorry in advance for sending them to the afterlife![No Yuri] [No NTR][The book will slowly introduce the toxic female lead with proper pacing.]

The tombs of the gods have appeared in the world!

After dying, Chen Heng finds that he has transmigrated to an alternate reality: everything is the same, except the world is now a Wuxia world heavily influenced by martial arts! Not only this, he discovers that he has a Fantasy Simulator, from which he obtains rewards that make him incredibly powerful in his new reality as well. Martial arts, immortal cultivation, and overpowered abilities–all of this begins from a single simulation!

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.”