The Wrong Way to Use Healing Magic - Chapter 9Vol 6.

“Hubby, I don't want anymore, I feel terrible...” “Baby, be good, finish up this medicine.”The handsome man embraces the woman in his arms, coaxing her tenderly as he feeds her the medicine.Joanna Lawrence stumbles upon Ashton Heath, the most esteemed scion in all of Closia City, and ends up sleeping with him for the night. After he offers her benefits in exchange for their marriage, the newly appointed Mrs Heath suddenly has the power to have everything she ever wished for.“Hubby, I slapped the Movie Queen Faye today, was I too much?”“Baby, does your hand hurt? Let me rub it for you.”“Hubby, I maxed out your credit card, are you angry?”“Baby, are you happy with your purchase? Let me know when you need more.”“Hubby, I'm tired today, I don't want to move...”

A Mysterious continent, with many powerful sect and countless strong one. Juvenile Zhou Heng with a mysterious black broken sword, from the original stone town out into this world of war. Ascended the throne of the world with only a sword in hand.

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”