MTL - Paranormal Recovery: My Wife is Too Strong - v3 Chapter 173 4-star resentment crystal! (Thanks to the invincible shop small 20,000 reward...

What to expect:A long epic progression fantasy with south asian/indian cultivation elements. Lots of action, strong worldbuilding, and a planned story. People die, but no excessive grimdark content. No murderhobo MC. No edgy or whiny or anti-hero MC. No pacifist MC.Cute canine companion

In her past life, Xia Chu lost her virginity before marriage and was scorned by her family as a wanton woman, forced to marry an old widower with a limp. Her aunt and mother died one after another because of her. Fleeing alone to the south to work, she suffered a hard life and eventually died tragically at the hands of a scoundrel.Reborn, she is determined to protect those who love her and those she loves, to rewrite destiny. Those who framed her, she will make them suffer the consequences; those who forced her, she will make them kneel and beg for mercy; and those who killed her, she will make them wish they were dead!By the way, that tall, stoic man with good looks, loyalty, and skills, I might as well marry you since you’ve got it all.

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.”