The Arrogant Heroine Was Too Overbearing, So I Immediately Switched Sides to Become the Traitor - Chapter 48 - Even If It’s an Erotic Game, Still…

A Mature Lady: You have a house?

Jiang Xiu: I can cultivate.

A Ms. Perfect: You have a car?

Jiang Xiu: I can cultivate.

A Loli: Big Brother Jiang Xiu, do you have a seven-figure bank balance?

Jiang Xiu: I can cultivate.

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Jiang Xiu once transmigrated to the Immortal Martial Continent, living out a long life there and establishing himself with renowned fame. He finds himself waking up to strange circumstances and discovers that he’s returned back home. What happened exactly? And what’ll he do from now on? Follow Jiang Xiu as he deals with the crazy scenarios fate has in store for him.

- Description from Novelupdates

In the Canglan Continent, there existed a rule: only those who managed to awaken a Martial Spirit were able to pursue the path of cultivation, and a Martial Spirit’s rank was determined when it was awakened. Born in Linshui City, Qin Nan was a peerless genius who possessed great talents and was highly anticipated to become a great cultivator in the future. However, things changed when he ended up awakening the lowest-grade Martial Spirit, resulting in him being considered trash.

Song Yi found herself transmigrated into a novel, becoming the female protagonist of an old-school Mary Sue story.Gentle, kind, beautiful, and graceful, she was the unattainable ideal in everyone’s heart. The aloof top student fell from his pedestal for her sake, while the reclusive young man fought against his family for her.All of this sounded quite nice, but there was just one problem – this novel had a bad ending!!!

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.”