The Regressor Can Make Them All - Chapter 368

Xu Ke, the live-in son-in-law who had always been humiliated in the Lin Family, suffered countless indignities in this prestigious household.But who would have known that he was actually the heir of a top-tier wealthy family in the capital? When he inherits the family business, those who once scorned him can only look up to him.

Kenichi Yamada was a 35-year-old salaryman. As a hardcore game enthusiast, he was saddened by the modern trend towards casual games.So, when a site claimed to be “for people who like to do things the hard way,” he just couldn’t resist. Thus, he was reincarnated into another world as Allen, playing on Hell Mode.This is fantasy light novel about Allen’s journey as a summoner.Reincarnated as a serf, he starts from nothing.His journey begins with absolutely no knowledge of the world around him, just like those games he played 10, 20 years ago.

She became the young mistress of the most powerful family in City T by marrying the young master in place of her sister.

He was cold to her on their first nuptial night. "Just because you played some tricks to get yourself married here, you still mean nothing to me!"

However, she was calm and heartless. "Young Master Mu, don't think too highly of yourself. I despise all that is you — your money and your very being!"

After the wedding, Young Master Mu lived lavishly by spending money like flowing during the day while working his nights away busily. "You said you despised me earlier. Well, which part of me do you despise exactly, hmm?"

Luo Chenxi could not bear the harassment any longer so she tossed out the divorce papers in rage. "I can't live like this much longer..."

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.”