Reborn with Steve Stand - Chapter 772: Führer’s EX-rank Noble Phantasm

Ning Shu had dropped dead. But in a burst of good fortune she became a task-taker in charge of counterattacking for pitiful cannon fodder. Thus, Ning Shu, in one world after another, took all kinds of life roles, encountered all kinds of ‘you’re heartless, you’re ruthless, you’re making trouble for no reason’ people. She encountered all sorts of white lotus flowers, green tea b*tches, scheming b*tches, by the batch.

In a world where human and monsters relied on mystical fruits and their inner power to fight for dominance, a lost soul was thrown, given the powers from all the other worlds he’s known. But there was a catch; he had no control over what power he would get! With knowledge beyond that of most, he sails his path to the top of the one piece world!

- Description from Novelupdates

“Let’s get a divorce,” Chen Jinyao said.

She knew that she was only a supporting character in this novel world. The male lead only married her as a business relationship and, sooner or later, the female lead of the story would eventually show up.

If Chen Jinyao was indecisive about leaving, only heartbreak would follow.

Something pulled her thin white wrist, and next thing she knew, she was pushed down and pressed against a pillow. Yan Cheng’s peach blossom eyes bored into her in discontent as he declared, “Only in your dreams!”

After spending a colorful night, she was too tired to lift a finger.

When she fell asleep in Yan Cheng’s arms, she had a dream.

In her dream, she had turned 80 years old.

But can someone tell her why she still hadn’t left the marriage at that age?

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.”