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... ’t take it seriously. He just gazed at her and said, “Have a good rest. I will send servants to decoct medicinal herbs for you! ”


“I am blind, and I cannot see anything. Is the medicine really necessary for me?” shouted Qin Yuyan in rage. She conveniently grasped the hourglass by her side, and violently threw it at the curtain.


Just at that moment, a big hand stretched into the curtain, and caught the hourglass. A handsome gentleman with vicious and presumptuous eyes in a ...

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Luo Zheng is at the bottom of the Luo Clan hierarchy, despite his family being the founders of a power refining technique that could instantly defeat any opponent.

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GREED: ALL FOR WHAT?Chapter 2164: To The Death.
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It is said that you shouldn't meet your heroes. Gehaldirah, a high elf of royal bloodline didn't have to meet the realm lord of High Heaven before he became disillusioned.

His admiration for the paragon of the high elf race turned into hatred when he got some damning knowledge about why demons kept attacking his home and looting the sacred tree of life. His hatred for the realm lord turned to self-hatred for his weakness and mediocrity.

Gehaldirah had a moment of introspection. He isn't at the bottom of the ladder in this strength-based hierarchy. He is a king of law, but that apparently isn't enough to guarantee your fate. His strength is also mediocre because it was granted to him because of his bloodline.

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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.”