The Journey of Immortal Cultivation - Chapter 463 - 270 Ambush

Wu Yuan was reborn to the eighth or eighth year when the carpenter had just graduated from school.

The snobby wife who had only been with her for three months in her previous life was about to marry.

It is impossible for Wu Yuanduan to jump into the same fire pit twice.

It is impossible for him to take this hard-won chance of rebirth to cover that cold heart that does not belong to him.

With that skill, he could have picked a better one.

The beautiful daughter of the branch secretary’s family is not bad.

Although his family is bare.

Although he is alone.

But he has more than 30 years of experience and a carpenter’s skills.

So Wu Yuan’s rebirth began as a carpenter.

- Description from novelbuddy

[Congratulations! The system will guide you to find a handsome and kind husband in the apocalypse!]After being killed by the demon king, the demon queen had a second chance to live in the body of a woman in the apocalyptic world, Medeia Vega.Their planet has apparently been hit by cosmic radiation, causing living things to mutate and develop unique abilities.People with weak mental states couldn't keep their humanity and turned into monsters, while the survivors had to fight those monsters endlessly to stay alive.Her main mission in that world was to find a kind-hearted husband, but it just so happened that Medeia also built a safe haven for people.Would she be able to find the man of her dreams in the apocalypse?————[Before dating a kind hearted man, you should also have a pure heart!]“Fuck.”[Foul language detected! Penalty minus 20 points!]“Damn you—”[Foul language detected! Penalty minus 30 points!]“You shitty system, how dare you keep reducing my point?! I hope you rot in hell, you bastard!”[Foul language detected! Bad curse detected! Penalty minus 100 points!!!]

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.”