Reborn as a Succubus: Time To Live My Best Life! - Chapter 329: A Sister’s Plea*

Xu Qing woke up to find himself turned into a Zombie.Zombies do not die; their life is endless, yet they suffer from the lack of a method to evolve and ascend!Facing a chaotic era where ceremonies and music collapse, and demons and strange creatures emerge endlessly, Xu Qing chooses to remain under the radar and becomes the most inconspicuous Corpse Driver in the shadowy profession of corpse craftsman, earning various rewards by performing rites for the dead each day.Be it folk arts, innumerable professions, or the nation's destiny and heaven's will, gods, ghosts, and the extraordinary, Xu Qing hides within a shop, mastering them all.Watching clouds rise and fall, witnessing the dynasties change and old acquaintances fade; with eyes opening and closing, witnessing the vicissitudes of life, thousands upon thousands of years, my form remains unchanged, eventually becoming an eternal name among the immortals!------------------[Alternative Longevity Stream, Folklore and Anomalies, Management Daily, Steady Cultivation]

The Supernatural era descended, the rules changed, mystery arrived, and the world altered. Countless ruins of civilization emerged, and an abundance of Heavenly Materials and Earthly Treasures lay at everyone’s fingertips. Radical faction, “This is the best of times, entering a new world, excavating relics, mass evolution!” Conservative, “This is the worst of times, with countless monsters outside, once you leave the Safe Zone, extinction awaits humanity!” … Meanwhile, at a remote ruin, Lu Yuan successfully discovered new treasures and sought after the mysterious wealth, desperately trying to contact his fellow Earthlings. “Found a communicator, can it get through?” “Hey, humans—I’m almost becoming a god, and you’re still hiding in the Safe Zone?”

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.”