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... water to be analyzed by the Space. He expects that the river water was toxic, thus it couldn’t be inhabited by beasts. But to Zhao Hai’s surprise, the water wasn’t toxic. The water was even quite nutritious. This confused Zhao Hai.


At this time, Zhao Hai felt something fast approaching in front of him. This incident wasn’t discovered by his normal spiritual force but instead by the golden spiritual force. Zhao Hai immediately stopped and then said, “Everyone, be careful. Something i ...

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“Only when your brother is happy can you be happy.”

She committed all kinds of evil deeds to make him Emperor. However, Artezia’s devotion was repaid with betrayal. It was the Grand Duke Cedric, a righteous enemy, that gave her a hand of salvation at the threshold of death.

“Devise a plan.”
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“I can’t think of anyone but you who can reverse this situation. Marquess Rosan.”
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“Lend me your strength.”

There is no plan that can reverse the already declining power and save the fallen empire. However, there is a method. To turn back time before everything went wrong.

With tears of blood she sacrificed her body to an ancient magic. This time, she will not fall.

Artezia, who returned to the age of 18 before death, resolved to become a villainess for the Grand Duke Cedric.

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Waking up from a nightmare several hours before dawn, Belle fetched a drink of water.

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Curious, she made her way outside, but when she had gotten close enough to see a large and hollow pit next to her eternally-stoic and polite butler, she saw him pick up a rotten body.

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“Fertilizer,” he answered her before picking up the shovel that was on the ground. Belle was now certain something had possessed her butler. Who gardened dead bodies?!

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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.”