MTL - Master Quan Pets the Mysterious Wife - Chapter 155 second dance

One imperial edict and the family’s calculation, the sweet, adorable her met the cold him that was up high. She became his little princess consort. Everyone said that Prince Ying of Western Xuan Empire was shockingly ugly, cold-blooded and ruthless. They laughed at her that she had mistakenly entered the tiger’s den with her life in danger. But she just laughed that everyone in the world couldn’t see the wider picture, and were stupid and ignorant. The ugly appearance was actually beyond gorgeous, cold-blooded was actually gentle and sweet. She only wanted to hide him away and not allow other people to peep at him. “Big Ice Cube, take off your mask and let this princess have a look!” She propped up her chin with saliva flowing down.

Like most candidates, Zlatan's dream was a simple one. To pass the hunter's test, join a guild, hunt monsters and reach the A-class.Eventually, as he dreamed of, he achieved it hundreds of years later. Having sacrificed more than he could take in, using the most unthinkable and brutal measures, he became an S-class Hunter instead.Obtaining the Copper Flame back then after the Aura Awakening Ritual, that was his greatest flaw. Taking a span of 80 years to reach a D-class. Still, Zlatan Elmore became the most powerful hunter to exist.Falling on the battlefield against a Two-horned Dragon, he suddenly awoke as his 30 year old self. Given another chance at life, he didn't only have his memories but he's also given a Blank Scroll. This mysterious scroll doesn't only speak, its omniscient!

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.”

Suddenly being thrown into the world of the novel and possessing a pretty much fucked up character made him have no choice but to continue his life as a new identity.

And just like any sane person that transmigrated into a book, of course, he would destroy every red flag that stood in his way.

Yet, unbeknownst to him, every single thing he did was just wrecking the storyline more and even more; to the point that the plot had become utterly screwed, thanks to him.

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