Short, Light, Free - Chapter 87: The Value of Art II

Guang Xiaoyu always thought her senior brother was a dispirited ordinary person, until one day, his pet cow crushed an entire group of Divine Kings with a single stomp.The black dog opened its mouth and expelled a Sword Qi, blocking millions of the Demon Race.The Earth Chicken that babbled every day turned out to be a descendant of the Ancient Phoenix!Ahhhh!Her worldview collapsed!Zi Ji: “Senior sister, it's terrible! The Demon Emperor is leading an army of millions from the Demon Race towards us.”Guang Xiaoyu: “Senior brother, help!”(This is a story about the Demon Emperor’s rebirth, the Netherworld’s daughter’s reincarnation, the protagonist's pet-keeping journey, and a call to everyone to love and care for small animals!)

Two years ago, Austin was just a nerd earning a meager salary in a concrete jungle, enjoying reading novels and idling his days away, until one day, he woke up in a cold, dark place. After struggling to break through a white wall, he discovered, to his astonishment, he had transformed into a creature.A Blue Young Dragon.Now, he is stronger and claims a small territory, but he still needs time to grow.And some kobolds have strayed into his territory in their flight.“Mom, will we live here forever?”“Hmm, Nina?”“Mom, I like it here. Let's live here with the Dragon from now on, okay?”

After recently taking on the job as the President of Jing Sheng Group’s assistant, she is reports to the president, that has also just taken office, for work.

“Tomorrow morning, postpone all the meetings. At 9 o’clock, follow me to the civil administration office to receive the license.”

On the first day of work, she already encountered an overbearing president that is forcing her to receive the license. Should she resist or obey?

At night, a certain someone leans on the edge of the door, saying in a light and lazy manner: “Madam, I want to turn off the lights. Are you sure you want to go to sleep wrapped like a steamed dumpling while holding a knife?”

“Either that or you can go out to sleep!”

“Impossible, this is my home!”

“During the day, you transferred the house to me. So now it’s my home!”

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.”