Genocide Online ~Playtime Diary of an Evil Young Girl~ - Chapter 264

Korean entertainment novels, I don’t like it.

There are already three copies, character protection, never TJ.

- Description from novelbuddy

Xiao Shan is a famously profligate prince, the kind that makes his emperor father angry just by being seen. Xiao Shan’s greatest wish in life is to be a salted fish who lives without any worldly strife, until his father bestows upon him Xie Zhui, a ger who has been mixing with men, to be his bride. Xie Zhui took his brother’s place in the army at fourteen, achieved great merits by successfully defending against enemies outside the northern border city at sixteen, and was discovered to be a ger after being seriously injured at eighteen. After returning to the capital, the emperor pardoned Xie Zhui’s crime of deceiving the monarch and bestowed him to Xiao Shan as his rightful spouse. Everyone says that Xiao Shan has married a ger who came out of a pile of men, with a vast grassland above his head. They think about how much the emperor must dislike Xiao Shan to have given him such a troublesome marriage.

Su Xing traveled through ten years in time and secretly checked in for ten years at Tianquan Peak. He thought he could continue to develop, but he suddenly got three junior sisters.

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.”