Loving the Forbidden Prince - Chapter 134 - Cannot Steal It

Father's concubine framed him, coveting the treasure in Lu Chen's hands.His clan siblings were envious, fearful that Lu Chen would threaten his position as the young master of the family!The two colluded, resulting in Lu Chen being gouged in one eye and his Dantian destroyed, leaving him disabled!In such a desperate state, he also faced a life-and-death crisis on the execution stage, but only the maid Qin Yaotiao stayed by his side, willing to live and die with him!Fortunately, he obtained the Hateful Sky Clan's Totem Pupil Bead left by his biological mother, which granted him an unparalleled Pupil Skill cultivation technique and spear skills, allowing him to gradually take revenge for the blood feud and ultimately embark on the supreme path of immortality with Qin Yaotiao!

Yasuo Zoldyck, an assassin who was once a biologist seeking to extinguish the limits set upon him- To no avail.

Now, in a world where the impossible is possible, how far will his researching mind push him? Can he break those limits?

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A silhouette of a man standing upon a boulder with the crescent of the moon shining behind him.

A kukri dripping with blood in one hand and a pistol in the other.

The image of burning flames surrounding him.

The countless mercenaries screamed as they saw this scene.

“It’s a demon!”

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.”