World-saving Plan: The Only Savior - Chapter 137 - 35 Metamorphosis from Chrysalis to Butterfly

A hundred thousand years ago, there was a great war between cultivators. Immortals fell by the tens of thousands, the path of cultivation itself was severed, and after the dust settled, tombs forested the world.

A hundred thousand years after the last legend faded, Lu Yun, commandant of tomb raiders, descends upon the world. Armed with the Book of Life and Death, he has some burning questions to answer.

……

“This isn’t how you raid a tomb!” Lu Yun smirked at the cultivators frantically scurrying about the ancient tomb. “Do you want me to teach you?”

……

But ah, can someone teach him how to cure his new body’s erectile dysfunction?

“Love Tripped Into My Room: I Just Wanted Peace, Not Panties”Kaito Tenma just wanted a normal life. Wake up, eat toast, avoid drama, and maybe—just maybe—confess to his beautiful, blunt childhood friend, Riko.But fate sucker-punches that dream into space when a half-naked girl crashes through his ceiling and declares his room as her new home. Now he’s living with Yuna, a mysterious (and dangerously clingy) bombshell who thinks clothing is optional and personal space is a myth.From lewd accidents to jealousy-fueled misunderstandings, Kaito’s life spirals into a wild, hilarious mess of high school chaos, horny misunderstandings, and girls who seem way too interested in ruining his peace.He didn’t ask for a harem. He didn’t ask for trouble. But trouble keeps tripping into his life—one girl at a time.

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.”