Everyone is Young Except for Me - Chapter 325

Henry Morris, the 8th-Circle Mage, stood on the execution platform.

When the emperor, his friend, had passed, his son had became a puppet of the nobles. Soon after, a purge had ensued, led by the forces opposing Henry.

Even in the face of death, all Henry could think was that he hated the new emperor and the nobles.

Just as he thought it was all over, Henry suddenly found himself in a new body—one with the potential to become a swordsman. An 8th-Circle Mage, reborn as a swordsman.

With both powers now at his disposal, Henry’s revenge was only a matter of time.

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He approached her and announced domineeringly, “Ten million, you're mine!” Little did he know that she would smash his head and flee in panic! Five years later, for the sake of her young son, she endured humiliation and became his wife, always on guard around him, “Get out, what are you doing coming in?” His handsome face darkened, “Woman, you couldn't have forgotten that we are husband and wife, could you?”

When Song Qinghan woke up, he found that he had not only transmigrated into another world, but also… had a ball in his stomach. He thought the original owner of this body had left a total mess to him. But it turned out there was a piece of precious jade hidden in it. Looking at the six-pack abs of Wu Dahu, he rubbed his hands with great excitement. Farming, your job! Hunting, your job! Giving birth, ahem, you worked hard! But surgery… leave it to me!

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.”