Reborn To Be The Imperial Consort [BL] - Chapter 44: Shrivelled Forget-me-not — I

Octavius, misled by friends, embarks on a quest to clear his father's name, ultimately facing a tragic end with his sister.Their journey results in devastating loss, leaving him powerless and yearning for revenge against those who harmed his family. Spirits offer him a chance to reincarnate, but he refuses, saying;“What’s the point of a new life if I keep running from my problems”The entities are taken aback by his unwavering decision, having never encountered a spirit who refuses to escape their troubled past. They warn him about the evil being that now resides in his old body, but that only motivates him. He believed In the saying - to defeat a monster, you have to be twice as monstrous.Embracing his fate as The Phantom's Gambit, they traverse the shadowy path of retribution, their identities blur, secrets unravel, and the line between savior and monster fades.This is a tale of darkness and redemption, where justice is a blade, and revenge is the only way forward.

Xiang Shaoyun is the young master of an influential and powerful sect and is blessed with an extreme latent talent in martial cultivation. From talent comes confidence, and from confidence comes a declaration to give all the so-called geniuses a head start of ten years before catching up to them.

Is it wrong to face the perils of Dungeon alone, in a single-member guild blessed by a failed goddess? Maybe.

Is it wrong to dream of playing hero to hapless maidens in Dungeon? Maybe not. After one misguided adventure, Bell quickly discovers that anything can happen in the labyrinth-even chance encounters with beautiful women.

Only problem? He’s the one who winds up the damsel in distress!

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.”