MTL - Assassin’s Chronicle - Chapter 447 Kill

Immortals, gods, demons, princes and generals; dragon girls hold lamps, and the cups hold the sea.

Wild foxes practice Zen, and fierce tigers realize Taoism; they swim in the North Sea in the morning, and go to Cangwu in the evening.

Immortals and gods survive, and demons establish a country.

These originally had nothing to do with Qi Wuhuo.

And Qi Wuhuo, who always saw square characters in his dreams, only thought about being able to participate in the spring test in the coming year.

Until when he was making yellow rice rice, an old man gave him a jade pillow, which made him have a long dream.

Huang Liang has a dream.

…………

Huang Liang awakened from his dream and broke his heart, and since then he has opened the door to practice.

The golden crow flies, and the jade rabbit leaves.

One grain of millet in the three realms, the dust of the mountains and rivers for several years.

Pass the sword leisurely through the downtown.

No one knows that I am a real fairy.

- Description from novelbuddy

I'll take care of it. The uncle of her husband on their wedding night whispered viciously in her ear. In front of a frightening Steel Blooded Business Demon, he was the one who was crazy for favoring his wife.

He had begged her to pave the way for her so that she could do whatever she wanted. If not, he would pamper her to the heavens. Just because he glanced at the clothes, he directly monopolized the entire shopping mall under her name. He said, As long as you want it, I want it!

She was never supposed to love him, he was the one person she despised, but for how long could she deny the flutter and Sparks he made her feel.*******She is an assassin, the princess of the witches, sent to marry the Vampire King with one purpose—to kill him and secure her clan’s victory in a war that has raged for centuries.He is Rhydian, the brooding king burdened by his father’s bloody legacy, forced into the alliance to protect his people from the looming Dragon Empire.Rhydian distrusts the witches, while Seraphina resents the vampires, but neither is prepared for what fate has in stall. As they face palace intrigues, ancient prophecies, and brewing rebellion, their indifference begins to shift into something neither expected—love, an emotion they both try to deny, but is impossible to ignore.I won't call this an enemies to lovers because she is the only one who hates him, also...this will contain R18 scenes, I'll always highlight that on every chapter so you can skip if you want.A/N: I hope you all will stick with me till the end, feel free to check out my other book, I'm in love with a grim reaper, you might like it, I hope you do.Excerpt;Her fingers brushed against his forehead before he could react, her warm palms cupping both sides of his face as she studied him intently. His breath hitched at the sudden intimacy, his heart giving an involuntary stutter.What the hell was she doing?His gaze traced over her face, mapping every detail—the sharp glint of her violet eyes, the delicate curve of her nose, and her lips... God, her lips. Plump, red, slightly parted as she assessed him. He wanted to taste them again, to claim them fully.“Your fever seems to be coming down,” she murmured, tilting her head slightly. “My blood really did the trick, I see...”His jaw clenched.Did she have to check his temperature this way? There were plenty of other ways to do it—ones that didn't involve tempting him with that mesmerizing face of hers.She started to pull her hands away, but before she could, he caught her wrist, stopping her.She looked up at him, startled.“If you wanted to check my temperature, you could've done so in a simpler way,” he said, his lips curving into a playful grin. He tugged her closer, his grip firm but gentle. “Are you trying to seduce me, Purple?”Her heartbeat stuttered against his chest. He could hear it. Feel it.Then, to his surprise, she didn't pull away.Instead, a slow, wicked smile spread across her lips. She leaned in, her body pressing against his just enough to make his muscles tense.“What if I am?” she whispered, deliberately biting her bottom lip.Rhydian's breath caught.The last of his control snapped.“You asked for it,” he growled.In the next second, he crashed his lips against hers.The kiss was deep, desperate, consuming. His hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head to deepen the angle as his tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her fully. She responded instantly, matching his hunger with equal fervor.She wasn't perfect at kissing yet—he could tell she was still learning—but she made up for it with pure intensity, and damn if it didn't make his blood boil.His other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him as his lips moved against hers with feverish need. His tongue tangled with hers, teasing, tasting, drinking her in as if she were the only thing that could satiate him.He bit down softly, drawing a gasp from her, and that little sound sent a violent pulse of arousal straight through him.He was already rock hard, aching with need.He hadn't touched a woman since the marriage arrangement was made. Maybe that was why he was losing control so easily. Or maybe it was just her. Maybe it had always been her.

At nineteen, Dexter was already one of the world’s most celebrated authors. His books topped charts. Critics praised his genius. Fans devoured every word. But behind the acclaim was a lonely boy—raised without parents, love, or real friends—just stories.He published his first novel at fourteen. By seventeen, he was a literary star. But the higher he rose, the hollower it felt.Then came the writer’s block. The headaches. The blackout. And the transmigration.Dexter awoke in the body of Daylan, a disgraced young man in a crumbling, medieval world laced with steampunk tech, divine law, and political unrest. Daylan had already failed two of the three sacred Trials—rites that determine one’s magical potential. He was drowning in debt, entangled in plots to overthrow a corrupt Divine Church, and branded a lost cause.With no way back, Dexter took the final Trial—the most brutal of them all—and began a path that would earn him the whispered title: Soldier, Poet, King.But as his powers grew, one question haunted him: Did he truly die? And if so, who—or what—chose to bring him back?