MTL - Heroes of Marvel - Chapter 37 Secret base

I reincarnated into a fantasy world. Since I somehow got born again, I resolved myself to live diligently once more. But, putting that aside, my entire village burning up and disappearing when I’m 8-year old f*cking crossed the line. F*cking shit-f*cking crossed the line!

This novel is about the young master of the Du clan, Du Shaofu, who was born with crippled veins and is unable to cultivate martial arts . After finding out about his situation from the clan while returning home he got hit by a lightning and a mysterious ‘first scripture’ appears and after studying for ten years he was able to mend his crippled veins together and starts his journey to glory.

To exact revenge on a scumbag, she agrees to a hidden marriage with him for a year.

On their first encounter, she is rescued by him. On the second encounter, he helps her out of a conundrum. On the third encounter, they rush to get married.

He abducts her home and makes her his wife, ‘Mrs. Lucas’, one who is envied throughout the city. Rumor has it that the the cold and aloof Master Lucas dotes on her. He hugs, loves, pampers and holds her in such high esteem.

However, one day, the man’s domineering and intense love becomes too much for her. She leaves him with divorce papers and climbs over the compound wall to make her escape. Alas, things doesn’t happen the way she had planned. With her having one leg over the wall, he pulls her by her toes and stops her attempt. She falls into his arms. He places a hand over her tummy and asks in a hoarse voice, “Woman, where are you going with my son?”

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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.”