MTL - Immortal Executioner (Zhanxian) - Chapter 137 The challenge is divided into life and death (2)

I lived my whole life as a s*ave, bound by a leash. But there was one thing that I was able to choose for myself: the place where I would die.“…Any last words?”My only friend asked me in a calm voice, and I quietly replied as I closed my eyes.“Waaaah!”…Waaaah?To cut to the chase, I was reincarnated. And not just as anyone, but as my friend’s youngest grandson. So, what am I going to do now? Well, what else can I do?“I’m going to cause chaos.”

A villainess known by all as a wicked woman who has done all sorts of evil deeds—Ducal Lady Violet.
She regained her memories of her previous life after she fell into a lake and almost died.
The very moment she woke up, she immediately visited her father, Duke Everett, and asked one thing.

“Please confine me to the annex.”

And so, she imprisoned herself there.
Now that Violet was secluded away from the world’s criticism and reproach,
She immersed herself in her previous life’s memories and started painting them.

“What the hell are you up to this time?”

Everyone was suspicious of just what she might be scheming.
However, the misunderstandings surrounding her gradually got resolved one at a time…

Alex, An average guy transmigrates to an ancient world. He awakens an ability to farm in an interdimensional pocket space.Far from what he imagined, the planet he was on was completely different from the earth he knew. There were mythical beings, magical abilities and powerful civilizations. All that contradicts his common sense.Let's watch how he survives the harsh unknown world with his wits and extraordinary ability.

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.”