The Dragon Lord's Aide Wants to Quit [BL] - Chapter 83: Secondhand Feelings

A silhouette of a man standing upon a boulder with the crescent of the moon shining behind him.

A kukri dripping with blood in one hand and a pistol in the other.

The image of burning flames surrounding him.

The countless mercenaries screamed as they saw this scene.

“It’s a demon!”

Vampire Queen Shang Yu awoke at the auction house after a ten billion bid for her corpse.A gunfight broke out during transport and she stood up from her coffin.The scent of blood in the air was truly delightful!Her eyes fell upon the injured man and she tilted his chin, lightly kissing his wound:“You taste sweet.”…It’s said Shang Yu’s meteoric rise relied on men, but deeper digging revealed her aliases were all shocking, plus nine elder brothers and sisters who doted on her.She was known as the business world’s foremost abstinent queen.Yet she was photographed eagerly pressing a certain tycoon in a car, kissing him as he let her have her way.

[You can now choose three of the following seven options
1. Go back to five years ago with the present memory
2. Five centimeters taller
3. Seven million deposits
4. Appearance +50 points
5. A company with a market capitalization of 500 million
6. Proficient in a foreign language
7. Teaser live broadcast 10 million virtual coins]

Li Ang became angry after finishing the selection: choose every day, choose, choose, you will give it after the selection!
…
Fuck, it’s really shipped!

- 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.”