MTL - Devouring The Heavens - Chapter 33 Youlongjian Xianwei

（Both Pure, 1v1, Second Male Lead Rising）When Stella Grant broke up with her ex, Silas Sutton appeared just in time, like he knew it was going to happen.Amidst the swirling snow, Silas leaned casually against the car, biting a cigarette, and smirked: Broke up?Stella looked up at him, her gaze cold: Even if I break up, it won't be your turn.Later, Stella married Silas.Everyone thought Stella had found a better match.Only Silas knew that he was the one who fought through challenges, rising from the position of the second male lead.

It was said that the young lady from the Chi family, who was raised in the countryside and didn't even finish her sophomore year of high school, was brought back home. People were looking forward to seeing her become a laughingstock.

Unexpectedly—

Why did the grandchildren and sons of Kyoto's top prestigious families eagerly join the same class as Chi Gui?

Why did a world-renowned medical expert converse so kindly and familiarly with Chi Gui?

And then there's the ruthless, unapproachable prince of the Fu family, whose demeanor did a complete 180, showing off Chi Gui daily in chat groups?

Others:

“My girlfriend cooks well!”

“My darling plays the piano well!”

Fu Si: “My wife excels at dissecting corpses.”

Crowd: …

Chi Gui: …

These people are so annoying.

[A steel-hard, candid major boss lady X refined but flirty business tycoon]

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.”