The Artist Who Paints Dungeon - Chapter 151

Jiang Su transmigrated.

He transmigrated into a BL harem novel as the novel’s main character, jianghu’s number one beauty, who bewitches the masses with just his face, then is subjected to shame, humiliation, and infamy at the end.

To prevent this from happening, Jiang Su diligently practiced his swordsmanship. But then he suddenly realized…If he is still single when the original storyline ends, he will be forced to return to his original world.

Jiang Su: ……

- Description from Novelupdates

[Congratulations to the host for binding the Shenhao check-in system. 】

Sign in and check in to get rewards!

[Successfully signed in on time and obtained one billion assets. 】

[Sign in successfully, get the handsome face of the exiled fairy. 】

[Successfully checked in at Dongshan Villa, and obtained the ownership of Dongshan Villa. 】

…

Ever since the sign-in and clock-in system was bound, Chen Yun was either checking in or on the way to clock in.

From then on, amidst the wild flowers and the worship of the heroes, a brilliant god rose up.

In the world, I am the only one who has the name of a god!

(No vulgar routines, daily funny flow, welcome to watch)

Group number: 691163859 Welcome to join the group for communication!

It can be based on fan value and I want an administrator.

- Description from novelbuddy

The Descent of the Dragon Tower.A young man refines the nine Dragon Emperors, cultivates the invincible Dragon Body of eternal glory.Slays the emperors of myriad heavens, gods, and demons alike, defying gods and Buddhas.Invincible across nine thousand realms!

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.”