Pampered Consort of the Fragrant Orchard - Chapter 099.3: Verbal Sparring in the Imperial Study, Princess Anle (3)

What do you do when you wake up and find yourself inside the very game that you love?

What do you do when you realize you that you have not only become an NPC – you have even been thrown back in time to before the game even launched!

What will happen when our protagonist’s two realities coincide?

Han Xiao was a professional power leveler before his transmigration. Using his past life’s knowledge, Han Xiao sweeps through the universe as he prepares for the arrival of the players. This is definitely not your typical transmigration novel.

Before going to college, an ordinary high school student went to celebrate and got drunk. When he woke up, he found himself in a completely different world. There was a big sect, the approaching sect entrance examination, a slum where his body’s previous owner lived, and a shared memory about a missing young girl.

When he got tangled in a fight with a few punks in this different world, he fell off a cliff and miraculously found himself still alive, with two more voices ringing inside his head. They were Sword Master and Saber Master. In the company of them, he continued to find out more about this whole new world. He took the sect entrance examination, entered the sect, met a strange man in black, and even participated in a major competition of the sect to have a chance to win over his peers!
In this whole new world, he was born again and got to explore the fantastic martial world!

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”