Only I Am a Necromancer - Chapter 207: Crackdown on Demons in Uijongbu (2)

Who says that after rebirth, you have to slap faces, abuse scum, and revolve around enemies and men!Revenge is just incidental! Slapping faces and abusing scum are not the main battlefield of life!After being reborn, of course, you have to live out your own wonderful life, otherwise, it would be a waste of the chance of rebirth.

When waking up, Jiang Tian found out that it was not too late.

In his previous life, Jiang Tian was a member of Jiang family in Jinling. He suffered a disgrace that was his fiancee broke off the pledge of marriage, so he had to marry into the Zhao family. Although Zhao Xueqing, his wife was the first beauty in Hangzhou, he always beat and scolded her. A few years later, he went through a family upheaval, and his loved ones died one after another. With despair, guilt and hatred, Jiang Tian jumped from a cliff. But he did not die. Instead, he started a cultivation journey for as long as ten thousand years in another space.

He became the supreme god, but he died in the process of opening up the universe. With the regret for his parents and the guilt for Zhao Xueqing, Jiang Tian, who retained several thousand years of memory, swore that he would never let his loved one suffer any grievances and injuries this time!

- Description from Novelupdates

By Xishui River, there lived a family with the surname Ruo, whose luck was so disastrously poor that it was as if misfortune was possessed by their very souls. When other families had bountiful harvests, the Ruo Family harvested not a single grain. Their planted vegetables were devoured by insects, their chickens got chicken plague, their pigs got swine fever…Despite the household being full of strong men, they were either mad, crippled, or blind…What would have been a family of great prospects became the poorest within ten miles.The only thing that others envied about the Ruo Family was its thriving male members! The old lady of the Ruo Family had given birth to six sons, who then gave her four grandsons. She dreamt day and night of having a granddaughter. When she finally got a grandchild, to her dismay, the child was mentally disabled: at over three years old, she still couldn’t speak or walk, couldn’t even eat or relieve herself without help.Everyone thought the Ruo Family would never turn their fortunes around in this lifetime! That was until the half-old three-year-old mentally disabled child suddenly called out, “Mom…”The heavens began to change.The world began to turn mysterious.In the Ruo Family’s courtyard, the persimmons ripened overnight. The vegetables in the fields, nearly nibbled bare by insects, turned lush and green. The old hen that had never laid eggs suddenly started laying…While others faced famine, the Ruo Family’s granary was full.The eldest son was no longer mad, the second son was no longer crippled, the third son was no longer blind…The old lady of the Ruo Family, with her hands on her hips, laughed heartily to the sky, “Who says my Xuanbao is a dimwit? She’s clearly a treasure of blessings!”(This is a farming novel with a hint of fairy charm, where the female protagonist in a previous life was a just-awakened daylily that has reincarnated as a human.)

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.”