God of Trash - Chapter 44. Polish a Turd

In her previous life, she wrongly loved a scumbag, but was killed by him. Once reborn, she vowed to let him be forever.

On the day of the wedding, the director got married by mistake as soon as she got out of the sedan chair, but she didn’t want to leave the wolf’s den and enter the tiger’s den again.

“If you enter this king’s door, you will belong to this king.” He swore domineeringly, declaring his ownership of her.

“Concubine Ai, this king has no children yet, so the important task of inheriting the lineage can be left to you.” She bet on her innocence, he helped her to avenge her, and each got the good deal they needed, but in the end, it turned out to be a fake.

Do, make it real?

- Description from novelbuddy

Light and color, sound and smell;

Food, clothing, housing, mobile phones and computers;

Burn, freeze, rub, explode, thunder, rain, grow, decay;

All material changes and chemical phenomena;

Our bodies, our minds, our world—

All based on electromagnetic interaction!

Whoever can control the electromagnetic force will be the tyrant who dominates the world!

However, electromagnetic force is too profound, so let’s learn how to discharge electricity first…

- Description from novelbuddy

An editor at the prime of her life—and with maybe just a little too much free time—finds herself waking up in one of her favorite RPGs with no clue as to what's going on or how to get back home.This might be the part where others rejoice over getting whisked away to a world of wizards and magic, but she certainly doesn't think it's anything to celebrate about.After all, she woke up in the body of a small-time villain with some severe personality issues.

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.”