Crown of Thorns - Chapter 27

He was a simple man in his past life – a masseuse, not a hero. His hands were trained to heal pain, not cause it. But when fate dragged him into another world, those same hands became the only thing keeping him alive.Unlike the chosen ones who gain holy blessings or unrivaled power, he has nothing but skill, wit, and stubbornness. He doesn’t seek glory, nor does he dream of leaving his name in history.But the world has other plans.A kingdom built on lies. Families fighting for power in the shadows. Betrayals hidden behind smiles. And he? He’s caught in the middle, forced to navigate schemes that could devour him whole.He isn’t the strongest. He isn’t the bravest. But sometimes, the man who doesn’t want the spotlight… is the one who survives it.________I get this alot so I'm going to clarify:This is not a smut novel, there will be romantic scenes but not as pronounced.

Le Yao became the cannon fodder female supporting role in Wenli, the president of the dog blood. Holding the principle of cherishing life, she signed the divorce slyly and then went away.

Le Yao, who was far away, began to let go of herself.

Returning to the campus to fight for strength, she became the most beautiful student god;

She was unhappy with the live broadcast of cooking and cooking, and she became the most popular chef…

Even teaching the square dance aunt to twist her hips, she became the most sassy dance god.

Le Yao:  …

It seems to be flying a little faster by accident.

Nangong Jue: It’s okay, no matter how fast I fly, I can’t fly out of my palm.

A group of bigwigs who want to hug and kiss Le Yao:…

Le Yao:  …

- 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.”

A high-ranking officer in the Marines and a master of both Western and Chinese medicine, Feng Yu Heng is transmigrated with a duang sound to the Da Shun Dynasty.