Ashborn Primordial - Chapter Ashborn 338: Clandestine Gatherings (One) (Maiya)

“You really want me to save people?”

Looking at the shivering victim in front of him,

Look at the [Owl’s Head Wire], [The Murderer’s Gift], [Universal Anesthetic], [Invisible Potion] in the item column…

Shiraishi touched the hideous mask on his face and fell into deep thought.

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“The Salary Thief in the Distillery”

“What does the vest do to me have anything to do with it?”

“There are limits to being a human being, I choose to be a cat…”

The magic version of Conan

- Description from novelbuddy

Yila, who had served the empire for half her life, was decisively sold. He was almost beaten to death when he wanted to go to other countries, and was rescued by the Dragon Lady Demon King.

After crossing over, Ira, who had killed monsters for half her life, was a little guilty, but…

【Those who fight against the evil dragon should be careful not to become the husband of the dragon…】

[When you gaze into the abyss, the abyss… offers a kiss. 】

Ira Alcaraz: ? ? ?

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(Slow heat farming text…probably)

Book Friends Group (playing with the crescent moon madman): 【926993534】

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”

Ms Shen goes about her usual days while Mr Bo flirts with her relentlessly.