MTL - The Founder of Diabolism - Chapter 59 Three poisons twelfth 4

“If I don’t die… I swear I will act on all my evil thoughts..”

Not exactly everyone’s typical thought when they’re about to die. What will a cowardly young man do when reincarnated with the evil powers to redefine his destiny? Can the natural kindness of human nature triumph over evil? Will he become the cold-blooded demon king of legend, or will he forge his own path and rain down another kind of terror?

- Description from novelupdates

(Quick time travel + heroine + book wear + one-to-one sweet pet)

In the last century, Feng Ai, the boss of the last century, was so sad after losing his love that he actually traveled to the world of female venerables in his sleep.

Here women are in charge of the outside world, men are in charge of the inside, women are the worshipers, and the men are the wives and daughters. The most surprising thing is that even the children are not born by women. This is simply a woman’s paradise!

It’s just that the man in the book is willing to endure thousands of years of suffering for his lover, and he has been displaced for ten generations, and the love is really rare.

Since she wants to complete the task, then she will give him the exclusive favor for ten lifetimes and help him reach consummation.

Everyone said that the red cinnabar on his forehead was an ominous omen, but she regarded it like a jewel.

The ominous thing in the eyes of others is the white moonlight in her eyes and the cinnabar mole in her heart.

But……

Why?

The woman who had been scolded by her thousands of times for causing him to suffer for thousands of years was actually her former self!

Regardless of his identity, Nan Jun bravely climbed up to the top of Qiao Yun’s wall, and sneaked a look inside.

Hearing the movement, Qiao Yun hugged the broom, boldly approached the shadow, trembling and pretending to be calm, he said, “Where…where is the thief?”

After a moment of silence, a familiar voice sounded: “Heart thief!”

The broom in my hand fell in response…

- Description from novelbuddy

Gu Miru was assigned to the redemption group because she repeatedly broke down the mission world.

To redeem the miserable situation of the novel world, leading to blackening, madness, and ultimately the self-destruction of the soul, the role of the world to be. The auxiliary world successfully played the He ending.

However, the redemption team cannot designate an ID card, and they need to draw cards by luck.

Ten thousand years of non-chief Gu Miru: ….
The first world: an ancient boy who was locked up as a monster because of albinism and starved to death.
Gu Miru drew the ID card: the culprit who proposed to lock up the son.
The second world: The dead man who died for the heroine, who could not be loved.
Gu Miru drew an ID card: the vicious female partner who ordered the shooter.
Read the guide
Sweet and sweet, humming and falling in love, and can’t eat the food to cut the leg meat type by myself, and I don’t like welcome x.
Decathlon female lead, two worlds with different male lead.
The previous copywriter Long Aotian case reopened.

Content tags: sweet text through the book cool text
Search keywords: Protagonist: Gu Miru ┃ Supporting role: ┃ Others:

- 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.”