The Rebirth of the Malicious Empress of Military Lineage - Chapter 1: Disposing the Empress

1 drop of blood = 1-Up

Other people game overnight, I game overnight and bleed.

Ever since the dimensional storms descended upon Earth, numerous dimensional zones have appeared, bringing with them all kinds of dimensional creatures—Immortals, Buddhas, Devils, Angels, Elves, etc.

Yet, all these strange dimensional zones can turn into dungeon instances on my phone. Other people risk their lives adventuring, I spend all my time gaming.

Monsters drop dimensional crystals that boost stats, imbue new skills, and join me as Companion Beasts. These Companion Beasts fight alongside me or alone, augmenting me with their skills and strength. Rare monsters in real life? I’ll just restart the game with a drop of blood to grind it.

I really need a blood transfusion.

Xia Yuqing is a shut-in+fujoshi from the 21st century. After an accident, she transmigrates into the body of a young princess forced into a political marriage to another country.

“W-where is all this blood coming from? Is this– Is this nose blood? AH, YOUR HIGHNESS! A-are you alright? What? No! You mustn’t! Princess Xia, please, come back!”

“… I… need… to… see…”

The aide could only helplessly look on as Princess Xia Yuqing crawled towards the emperor’s quarters, leaving a trail of blood in her wake.

Fujoshi: a term for a woman who enjoys reading about relationships between men.

- Description from Novelupdates

He is handsome, arrogant and is of the elite class. Being straightforward and brave, she shamelessly pursued him, sending him gifts, flowers and tried to get close to him. She was humiliated when his staff gossiped about her and retreated. Then he rejected her and told her they could only be friends. She avoided him but no matter how much she tried, they frequently cross paths.

Suddenly one day he told her. “I want to be your boyfriend.”

What a mess! ! !

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.”