Strange Grief Wants to Retire ~ The Weakest Hunter Dreams of a Hero ~ - Chapter 425.2: Nora’s Case ②

Asura, a noble in the kingdom of Silvara, spent his days quietly until his world ended. Betrayed by his beloved wife and then killed, he swore to get revenge on them in his late moments. Upon death, Asura somehow returned 20 years into the past. Prepared to get revenge on the woman who betrayed him.On his journey for revenge, he discovers true love, friendship, and a life-altering truth.A dark cult controls his fate like a game—even his beloved's betrayal was their work. He learns about his powers and strange bloodlines. Then, about this being his ninth and final rebirth! All to revive their god, using Asura as the perfect vessel.Vowing to destroy the cult's plot and protect his loved ones, Asura forges an alternative path.Becoming the Devouring Monarch

Yuno is an unlucky part-timer working in a convenience store for Espers and Guides.That means they sell stuff that makes their store look like an adult shop.During his shift, the highest-grade aphrodisiac they have was stolen.He chased the thief, determined to retrieve the stolen Item from their store.But, much to Yuno's annoyance, he found himself in a dangerous situation with Ki Gayoon— the infamous Esper on the verge of a Rampage.How does the saying go again?'The way to an Esper's heart is through his d*ck.'Is Yuno supposed to, uhm, do “it” to calm Ki Gayoon before he snaps and kills them both?#guide #esper #guideverse

Here, only those with spiritual roots can cultivate while those with mortal roots are destined to stay mortal.

Mo Wuji only has mortal roots, but will he only remain as a mortal?

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.”