Shadow Monarch's Requiem - Chapter 59: The Heart of the Spiral

Following her attempted assassination, Fatima found herself amidst a meticulously staged slave auction orchestrated by her mysterious rescuers in the capital city of a prospective ally empire. Now a slave of the Kartier Duchy, her life as a princess seems far behind her as she spends her days toiling the farms under the scorching sun. Just when all hopes seem to be lost, Fatima’s painful days eased upon meeting the strikingly handsome heir of the Kartier duchy along with his cold and seemingly gruff knight. Will she ever overcome the shackles of slavery and return home to reclaim her title or will spend the rest of her life enduring the cruel treatments of the duchess? Torn between a charming heir and a dubious knight as her potential escape routes, which hand will she grasp?

When we met for the first time in our first year of high school, he saw my contempt, but silently continued to clean;

Qiao Shao, who worked hard to stay up all night and study, was first in class — if you count from the bottom.

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.”