Elf Kingdom: Game of the World Tree - Chapter 235 - 229: The Tireless Chosen One

Marcella Valemont was a villainess wrapped in silk and thorns.The alluring, selfish daughter of the High Priest, she was forced into a cold marriage with the Black-bellied Duke Berith Montclair. She longed for power and would stop at nothing to claim the crown, even if it meant seducing the incorruptible Crown Prince Lucian and clawing her way to the throne into becoming the Queen.Until it all burned.Her ruthless schemes led to betrayal, rebellion, and ruin-- an empire on its knees, a virtuous king destroyed, and a rebellion led by the man she discarded. Desperate and full of regret, she barters her life with the Duke to save Lucian.In an interesting turn of events, Marcella gets to go back in time to fix her wrongs, save the man who was ruined because of her and hopefully stop the bloodthirsty rebel Duke Berith.She finds herself reborn as her 18-year-old self with a chance for a do-over and vows to do better this time.But the past does not forget. Nor does the devil in her husband’s skin.Secrets long buried begin to surface, and Marcella discovers that her former husband is far more than he seems—a man cloaked in darkness, harboring a purpose that threatens everything she holds dear.They say second chances come with thorns and to fix the past, she must trust the devil who destroyed it.

There was a man in the modern world that built his business empire from scratch. He was hailed as a genius by his peers and was respected worldwide due to his contributions to the world.If it is not only for that unfortunate accident that led to his death. He was a man who could potentially change the world with his mind that still stores a plethora of ideas.But—fate had others plan with him. He found himself in another world, what’s more, it’s primitive and technologically backwards compared to his last world. And what’s more, he turned into his younger self, and in this world, he was an orphaned boy.For him to survive, he must use everything that he had at his disposal, and that was all in his head.

“Mr. Hu Lai, today’s football forwards like you who can only score goals are getting narrower and narrower … But nevertheless, you have achieved dazzling achievements. What is your secret to success?”

On a winter afternoon, Hu Lai showed reporters from all over the world the honor he had just received, and some reporters asked him such questions.

Facing the eyes cast by the reporters, Hu Lai’s thoughts returned to the afternoon when he was in high school. He stood alone beside the stadium to watch other students play games. They did not let him play, thinking he was here to make trouble.

He also thought of what the coach said to him with a straight face: “Hu Lai, if you can’t pay ten times the effort of others, your talent is just worthless stones.” And a disdainful voice: “Modern football The demands on the center are getting higher and more comprehensive. What’s the use of shooting only? ”

In the end, his thoughts were frozen at that time, and the night was already looming in the eastern sky. In the middle of the abandoned vacant land covered with grass, a girl said to him very seriously: “Hu Lai, you are actually gifted. , And a great talent! Because you know where the goal is! ”
Hu Lai stared at the girl’s eyes, and saw the sunset behind him from those eyes.

The sunlight is reflected in the pupils, flowing, burning, condensing into a halo, as if to melt yourself in this light.

Hu Lai, who withdrew his thoughts, returned to this warm winter afternoon, facing the excited reporters, he smiled slightly: “Because I know, the goal is there.”

- Description from Qidian

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.”