MTL - The Ice Lord Prime Minister’s Black-Bellied Wife - Chapter 178 Diploma (1)

A certain girl aspiring to be an adventurer was invited to join the Hero’s Party by chance and became their apprentice. However, she was not actually treated as a real apprentice, and was subjected to physical violence and verbal ab*se every day.In the end, she was told that she had no talent and was about to be expelled from the party.However, the hero promised the girl that if she could stay in the Demon Forest for a week, her expulsion would be revoked. Unaware of the fact that she had been tricked, the girl was abandoned in the forest without even a weapon to defend herself.But the Hero’s Party had no idea that the girl had been observing every battle they had faced. Nobody knew of the girl’s talent.A talent, for which even the word “genius” would be too modest to describe, would allow her to reach the realm of excellence.The girl who was able to escape the forest soon registered herself as an adventurer, and in no time, she overtook the fierce fighters one after another.This was a tale of the rapid growth of a girl with the strongest physical prowess.A talented monster doesn’t need to be taught – someone once stated.

In my previous life, I was merely a supporting character, highlighting Damon’s deep love for another woman.Tragically, my story unfolded with devastating consequences, leaving my family in ruins and my life shattered.Upon my rebirth, I chose to adopt a carefree attitude, ignoring the situation and waiting for Damon to ask for a divorce. But something peculiar happened. The man who used to disappear for weeks suddenly started showing up every few days.“Do you think there will come a time when you’ll want me to disappear?” I queried.“Do not indulge in fantasies.” he retorted,“We’ll continue to torment each other until the end.” I sighed, as a reincarnated soul, confident that his destined soulmate would soon cross his path.Finally, he encountered her, and I believed freedom was within my grasp. Yet, he quietly…

In times of war…What is a Battle Mecha engineer expected to do? Are they expected to do research and realize their imagination?How about a Battle Mecha pilot? Are they expected to enter battle with their mechas as they display their exquisite control through bizarre and bewildering techniques?What about a member of the special scouts? Are they expected to infiltrate deep into the enemy lines as they use stellar unarmed fighting skills to suppress the enemy with a single move? Or are they expected to make use of disguises and stealth techniques to take out the enemy?And what about a military officer? Are they expected to analyze the outcome of a battle? Or are they expected to create brilliant strategies to triumph over the enemy through a miraculous move?For someone who excels in human psychology, deceit, assassination, and disguise, what happens when that person is merged with all those professions?This is the story of a cowardly, wretched, and despicable fatty.

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.”