MTL - To Four Thousand Years Later - v5 Chapter 63 Tips

One imperial edict and the family’s calculation, the sweet, adorable her met the cold him that was up high. She became his little princess consort. Everyone said that Prince Ying of Western Xuan Empire was shockingly ugly, cold-blooded and ruthless. They laughed at her that she had mistakenly entered the tiger’s den with her life in danger. But she just laughed that everyone in the world couldn’t see the wider picture, and were stupid and ignorant. The ugly appearance was actually beyond gorgeous, cold-blooded was actually gentle and sweet. She only wanted to hide him away and not allow other people to peep at him. “Big Ice Cube, take off your mask and let this princess have a look!” She propped up her chin with saliva flowing down.

Teela married King Heavenly because she loved him, but life in the Heavenly household was anything but euphoric. Lettie, her hard-as-nails mother-in-law, treats her like an unpaid servant. The family treats her like an outsider. King treats her like a shadow, transparent and forgettable.When Lettie presses Teela to prove her value to the family or get out, Teela has a decision to make. But she’s not leaving without a fight.King Heavenly rules Heavenly Industries with an iron fist, but he leaves his home life to his mother to manage, and that includes the management of his boring little wife. Teela has never complained. She’s never done anything interesting, for that matter. She’s just one more responsibility in a long line of responsibilities that King shoulders on a daily basis, and that is exactly how he treats her — as a responsibility that he’s delegated to his mother.Suddenly Teela steps out of the shadows and into a fight with him and his whole family, and King is baffled by the ruthless actions of his now daring wife. He’d always heard that vengeance is a dish best served cold, but Teela is coming in hot!

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.”