I Got Reincarnated As The Ntr Protagonist In An Online Game - Chapter 22: Yandere Pt 1 (R18 )

On a dark night, drunkard Su Qingbai was pulled into an alley, and a few months later, he had a big belly.

Su Qingbai couldn’t help mourning that his father had been dismissed from officialdom. It was difficult for him to support himself and a little brat.

However, it’s not over yet…

Another dark night, Su Qingbai was pulled into an alley again…

- Description from Novelupdates

Imagine being forced to live, after death, as incorporeal bodies trapped in a vast space of nothingness for thousands of years, with nothing to do but exchanging past memories with other cohabitants (read: weirdos). Everybody wanted out, but there was no way to leave the Void…

The previous lords have committed as many atrocities as possible to fill their bellies. I, the only daughter of that house, had discovered that my servant and lover was a spy.

And as the people wanted, my life ended with my execution.

However, with the memory of getting beheaded intact, I began a new life. I was planning to shoulder the sins of my past life and become a nun, but by some trick of fate, I came to work as a maid for the current lord.

Under my former lover, whose name, age and even hair colour were all lies.

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.”