MTL - My Artist Is Reborn - Chapter 116 116th

Ye Beibei was unprepared for a while, and she married Young Master Gu who was sitting in a wheelchair.

I thought that from then on, I would have lived a career as a wealthy man, rich and free, but I never knew I was enslaved every day to become a nanny.

Ye Beibei beat the table: Liar, I want a divorce!

Young Master Gu pushed a cute baby to his front: You still want to get a divorce even when we already have a child? Wife, you wake up!

“…” Ye Beibei looked at a cute baby, who was exactly like her, with a confused expression.

Who can tell her when she gave birth! ?

- Description from MTL

One of the six people called heroes, Raid, fought alone against the Devil, and ended up dead.

After meeting with a suspicious god, he woke up again and found out he has born again as a baby.

Moreover, as a daughter of his former companions.

In order to regain his former power, Raid/Nicole has to go through a life of hardships to reach the ideal he aims for.

It was supposed to be a perfect deal in which both parties got what they needed. However, after the child was born, he tore up the agreement with discontent and told her, “Who said that we’d only have one child? I want twins! Twin brother and sister! You’ll continue giving birth to more children until you bore me a pair of twins!”

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.”