The Black Beast’s Useless Concubine - Chapter 2509

A relentless young man, a shadow of a dragon soul sword, a legendary immortal saga.Who will be the peak in the battle for imperial supremacy, only I, Lin Xuan, despise all living!

“If there existed a horrendous ghost among the hwarangs, who would it be? Of course, it’d be Seol Yeong-rang who uses necromancy to call upon ghosts!”

Hwarang Seol Yeong, who was named as the horrendous ghost who’d bring forth a great disaster one day.

There was only one way to get rid of the false accusations and return to his original position.

It was to prove he wasn’t a horrendous ghost by solving abnormal incidents.

Then, Ja Ha, the head of the previous generation’s hwarang, the man who killed a great evil spirit eight years prior and disappeared without a trace, appeared in front of Seol Yeong…

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What kind of husband punishes his wife by spanking her ass? An insane and sadistic husband!

“How long are you going to punish me?!”

“I’m done with your punishment a while ago.”

Qiao Anxia jerked in a fury and immediately rose to her feet while tidying up her one-piece dress.

Her hands touched her buttocks without realizing it, feeling the heat from the man’s punishment. She didn’t know if this burning feeling was from Richard’s unpainful spanking or for another reason...

How she wished she could kill this man!

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.”