Comrade: Almost a Cat-astrophic Love Story - Chapter 125: It Might as Well Be with Someone Good-Looking

“Wife...”“Not wife, ex-wife!!” She gritted her teeth, glaring at the handsome man who tried to please her.“Wife...”“Get lost! Turn around, walk ten meters forward, open the door, and leave, no need to see you off!” Looking at the flattering smile on his face, she finally couldn’t hold back anymore. She kicked him, then turned around, tears streaming down her face.The groom didn't show up for the wedding, yet he treated her tenderly, only to realize it was his way of humiliating her. The love she gave finally had a return when he admitted he loved her. On her most precious day, he gave her the most painful blow again. Was that unbearable scene the “gift” from him and his first love? After signing a divorce agreement, she truly felt that her marriage to him was just a joke. However, when she remarried, at the wedding, he domineeringly tore the wedding dress from her body.Facing the man she once loved the most, she smiled calmly: “Ex-husband, can you ever stop messing around?”

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.”

As a virtuous wife, does it include tolerating his cousin, enduring his concubines, bearing his mother?

As the final dragon lay defeated, Aaran stared at the sky while the rest celebrated.[Awaiting the gods’ response...]He clenched his fists, his heart pounding. A shred of hope flickered in his eyes, only to be extinguished like always.[The attained outcome was deemed unsatisfactory.]Aaran had seen the message for the twentieth time. He had become the gods’ plaything in their desire to witness the “perfect ending”.He regressed once again, but this time as a toddler and charm being the only stat he had.But something was amiss. The world he remembered had changed. Powers that did not exist before had taken hold of the world.Tired of following the traditional route, Aaran chose to fight darkness with darkness… as the gods’ chosen necromancer!