Throne of Magical Arcana - Chapter 889 - Tracing the Source

I was nothing. A lowly omega, destined to live in the shadows of stronger wolves. But on the night of my eighteenth birthday, the moon had other plans for me. My mate was an Alpha’s son. The problem? He wasn’t the only one. The Blackwood triplets—Kael, Ronan, and Darian—each bore the same mark that bound them to me.To be Luna, I would have to survive the chaos of three powerful mates, a jealous rival who wanted my place, and a secret buried deep in my bloodline.Because being chosen by the moon was never a gift. It was a curse.

When people die, where do they end up to?I don't know about anyone else, but when I died, I arrived at the strangest Heaven of all times. And I got a chance to reincarnate with all of my memories!Jackpot!If you look away from the fact I had to reincarnate as a damn monster which is the lowest of all the bottom feeders? And I had to represent one of the worst goddesses ever!?And to make things worse, my “birthplace” was a freaking Dungeon! And not your everyday Dungeon with level 1 slimes and goblins, but a freaking Dungeon-turned-world-destroying-facility!Still, you gotta work with what you have. So see me how I survive in this crazy new world!!...But I promise I won't be mad if the bosses get debuffed. No? Damn...

This novel is also known as 1000 Years Later, Even My Weakest Follower Has Become A Demon King

After traveling through the game where he worked so hard to clear the level, Zhou Mu found that the whole world was stunned for some reason.

Why is the mainland united in its own name?

What’s going on with this religion in its own name?

What the hell are members of the royal family claiming to have their own bloodline? I wonder if this game doesn’t have this feature?

“What have you done in the thousand years I’ve been away!”

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”