Life Mission - Chapter 262

【Brain battles + leveling up + girls chasing + mild suspenseful reasoning. 】

“I can read minds and I understand psychology.

I can identify everything and even predict my own death.

However, if no girl confesses to me every 30 days, I will die.

The good news is, I've successfully picked up many girls.

The bad news is, the girls who can't have me are starting to go to extremes.

If anyone sees this message, please call an ambu——#$%^&*(……”

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“Drive this woman out!” "Throw this woman into the sea!” When he doesn’t know Debbie Nian’s true identity, Carlos Huo cold-shoulders her. “Mr. Huo, she is your wife,” Carlos’ secretary reminded him. Hearing that, Carlos gives him a cold stare and complained, “why didn’t you tell me earlier?” From then on, Carlos spoils her rotten. Little did everyone expect that they would get a divorce.

What will an ordinary man do if he finds out he is God in an Otome game? Of course, save the game’s Evil character, Morrigan! Unknowingly spread more chaos! Establish your own kingdom! Establish your own religion! Kill the Goddess of Light!

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.”