Childhood Friend of the Zenith - Chapter 24: The Demon Sword (1)

[Food+daily+warmth+dining+funny]

Obtain the God of Cooking system, start by setting up a stall and selling rice bowls, and become the God of Cooking in China!

“His chicken drumstick rice is so delicious! I want to eat it again!”

“I’ve never had such authentic sweet and sour pork, it’s amazing!”

“Cheng Guan! City Guan, why are you waiting in line too?!”

Urban Guan: “Anjing, it’s hard to get here in line. Do you know how difficult it is to eat his rice bowl!”

- Description from novelbuddy

Three reincarnations. Fourth life.

She was chosen to grow up as the Child of Fate; but when the real Child of Fate appeared, she was sacrificed for that child.

In the second life, she was abused.

In her third life, she lived as a beggar.

“This country is not safe. Let’s defect!”

LeBlaine chooses to be re-born into a new family to defect. The family she chooses is…

… the family of the future biggest villains in the Kingdom.

“Let’s try to get along until the time of my exile!” is what she tried to do. But what happened was…?

“My daughter is the cutest IN THE WORLD!”

“Give me that building, I can use it as my sister’s bathroom.”

“Don’t worry, LeBlaine asked me not to hit you. Not to not kill you.”

“WHO, WHO MADE MY SISTER CRY?!”

Having lived a normal life all his life and died without being able to fulfill his desire and when he’s given a task by a god, watch how he takes the protagonists girls while making it hard for the hero.

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.”