I’m Really Not Targeting the Mages - Chapter 1452 - 599_1

Arren was reincarnated as an extra in the book world. However, unlike the others, Arren was determined to play his role well and be the best extra ever.He was successful until that one unfortunate night that would make his second life an unpredictable one. He also began to doubt that perhaps... He wasn't the useless extra he always thought he was.R18.OMEGAVERSE/ BL

It was rumored that a woman beat her weak, poor, helpless husband in the middle of the night.

It was rumored that a woman gave up working hard to go to school with her bamboo stick.

It was rumored that a woman …… was simply not human!

Meng Changjin pressed her throbbing temples: “And it is rumored that today’s dinner would be simmer-fried carp!”

Fish System: Hey, hey, the host is not behaving again ~

- Description from Novelupdates

This is the story of a smart and beautiful young lady Yuan, who step by step conquered Chang’an’s number one golden bachelor, and make him to go from “totally ignore” to “punching his own face every day”.

Yuan Ci Xian dreamed that she was given death by the old emperor many years later and became a bridge stone.

Waking up and remembering the fear of being under the sole of feet of others, she was determined to find a backer.

After being pointed out by a certain advisor to “cater to other people’s preference”, Yuan Ci Xian picked up the brush and wrote a love poem for the future Imperial Teacher to show her infatuation.

When Lu Shiqing saw the poem, he vomited three liters of blood, and angrily rushed into the boudoir of Yuan Mansion.

He taught her to cater to other people’s preference, but she actually thought he like poetry?

Obviously what he like is…!

- 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.”