Please Be Patient, Grand Duke - Chapter 59.1

I am a doctor, and after I became a zombie, I found that my face was paralyzed.

Actually, I didn’t want to block the zombies for my patient, but I accidentally stumbled and fell on him.

As for why I am conscious, it may be because I am handsome…

After all, compared to those A zombie that stinks and dries and still grows green hair, except that my skin is paler, my body temperature is a little lower, my pupils are a little discolored, and there are a few cyan veins on my neck, as long as I don’t say…

Actually I can still see that I am not a normal person.

I was able to determine that my stomach was not interested in humans.

However, my patient seems to smell delicious…

Rong Yun (smile): Be good, don’t bite anyone

Xiao Shenwei (face paralysis and rub hands): Okay, ah hoo~

- Description from Novelupdates

Cultivating immortality was too hard, with no Spiritual Root, Wang Ba accepted his lot in life.

He chose to join a Sect, becoming a servant in charge of raising chickens.

But the moment he touched a chicken, he realized that his path to immortality might be a little different!

Half a year ago, after a generation of days, the national goddess was revealed to be pregnant, which caused an uproar in public opinion, and everyone was guessing who the father of the child was.

Half a year later, she appeared in front of Ye Mo with a pair of twins.

Ye Mo, who knew nothing, became the father of a pair of national babies and awakened the system.

“Accompany the baby for an hour, reward a building!”

“Make your baby happy and gain master carving skills!”

In this way, Ye Mo has gone further and further on the road to becoming a national dad and a super hero.

- 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.”