Bastard Homunculus: Reborn in the Corpse Pit - Chapter 221: Nice Weather

What is it that makes a man fall in love with a woman at first sight? Appearance? Aura? Wealth? NO, when campus prince and gaming expert, student Xiao Nai first saw Bei Wei Wei, what made him fall in love was not her extraordinary beauty; but her slim and slender fingers that were flying across the keyboard and her calm and composed manner!!! Embarrassing, no?

At the same time, gaming expert Bei Wei Wei was on the computer methodically commanding a guild war, and won a perfect and glorious victory despite being at a disadvantage; completely unaware of the fact that cupid is nearby.

Soon after basketball player; swimmer; all-around excellent student; and game company president, Xiao Nai, uses tactics both on- and offline to capture this beauty’s heart. Therefore this romance slowly bloomed.

Anne Allistair has long forgotten about romance since her failed marriage to Thomas Brown. Now she wants a simple life, one that doesn’t require her having her heart broken again. However, things take a wild turn when she walks into the office of her boss, Riccardo Antonelli. His charm is inescapable, even for Anne who’s heart sought no romantic affairs. Now caught in his web, Anne must make a choice; risk losing her job for the sake of her fragile heart, or remain the secret woman who shared a bed with her boss.

Yohan wakes up ten years in the past, back when he still lived with his uncle and hadn’t yet lost his parents’ massage parlour. With a strange book filled with wellness techniques in his hands, he decides to live differently this time—more aware, more purposeful, and maybe even more fulfilled.

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.”