Moonbound: The Rogue's Second Chance - Chapter 14 - FOURTEEN - I’M SORRY

After she had transmigrated into the body of an abandoned wife of a little marquis in Ancient China, Su Nuan Nuan, a modern-day food lover was delighted!

She was a cute and tomboyish girl attending a prestigious national university in the 21st century. However, little did anyone know that she was actually a secret agent groomed by a certain organization since childhood.

She was about to face her graduation exams when she returned from a mission. But during a break, she dozed off on her desk and unexpectedly discovered that she had transmigrated to an ancient era.

Not only did she lose her delicate appearance and the modern high-tech advancements, but she also became a discarded woman of low status!

Surprisingly, she embraced this new life and said it suited her perfectly. From then on, the so-called demure girl cultivated the land and occasionally dealt with annoying troublemakers.

She proclaimed, “Life is boring, but encountering troublemakers is great.”

The male lead said, “We have our fair share of troublemakers in my household. Coincidentally, my son lacks a mother. Would the young lady be willing to join my family and live together?”

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Once an imperial princess, now reborn among the lowest of s*aves of the nobility.

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.”