Arranged marriage to the princess of the Red Scorpions - Chapter 10

Death, Depression, Poverty, Love issues – all things that a 27-year no-name writer faces.

System: You are the only human who meets the binding requirements of this system, please bind with me!

Su Yu: I have money, good looks, power and influence, why should I bind myself to you?

System: You haven’t fallen in love ye-

Su Yu: Aiya! My stomach is hurting all of a sudden!

Su Yu bound himself to a system; his only task is to scatter some IQ to the brainless male protagonists. The soft-headed male protagonist chases after the female protagonist, the male protagonist with some intellect chases after him. He feels that something is not quite right…

Su Yu: System, is there something common between these male protagonists?

System: Yes, they are all male protagonists.

Su Yu: …Suddenly I don’t feel like talking anymore.

Male Protagonist who has been scattered with some IQ: Then don’t talk, just kiss me.

Su Yu: …Suddenly I don’t feel like doing the task anymore.

- Description from novelupdates

I didn’t know this was a world inside a game. And I didn’t know my master was a mid-boss. “No way… wasn’t she supposed to self-destruct because of her personality?!” …I’m sorry.

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.”