Dungeon Defense - Volume 2 - Prologue

In her previous life, she was humiliated and bullied every day. Her relatives despised her and her friends played tricks on her! Her mother and elder brother died one after another early. She gritted her teeth and survived the adversity alone, but only managed to live for twenty-six years!When she opens her eyes again, she finds herself back in time twenty years ago. To swallow insult and humiliation silently and let history repeat itself? If everything couldn't be changed, what was the point of her rebirth?! Who can stop her now that she defies her destiny and her abilities are emerging? In front of others, she is an ordinary student with an indifferent personality, isolated by her classmates. Behind their backs, she works step by step to build a brilliant and extraordinary business network.

Stands in front of you,The overseer and protector of darkness,The disruptor and reinventor of order,The creator and persecutor of sycophants,The hidden actress queen, the goddess of the night, the nightmare of Gods and their gravedigger,The True Ancestor of Blood—Charlotte de Castell.Accompanied by madness, born from blood, hand in hand with curses, walking alongside destruction.This is a tale belonging to the Bloodborne…

I became the villain in the story of a hero.

So I was about to quit after fighting the main character.

But she’s obsessed with me. Why…?

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.”