A Painting of the Villainess as a Young Lady - Chapter 227

Introduction: Gu Junqing has traveled to many urban novels in his previous life, and became one of the cannon fodder villains. As a villain, he should take it as his responsibility to steal the protagonist’s girlfriend. Why should the protagonist be able to sail smoothly and be invincible in the world? Let…

- Description from novelbuddy

The national emperor game is coming, and all human beings will travel to another world to become emperor.

Everyone gets the Emperor attribute bonus.

Righteousness, morality, force, strategy…

However, at the same time, everyone has to encounter a crisis,

Eunuch dictatorship, border chaos, harem curtains…

Unfortunately, the attributes that Chen Mu got at the beginning were,

The favorability of all the people has been greatly reduced.

But fortunately, Fang Ping, a programmer, brought his own plug-in, a tyrant simulator.

[Please select three from the next ten talents to start the simulation. 】

[In the first month, you are enthroned as emperor! 】

【In the second month, you died…】

[The simulation is over, you can choose a talent]

…

After the novice period is over, when other emperors are gearing up and planning to conquer cities and lands, and unite the universe and become a country of all nations,

An emperor named “Tyrant” smiled happily.

- 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.”