MTL - My Wife Is the Martial Alliance Head - Chapter 15 Take a bath alone

She was the most unpopular female wolf in the New Moon Pack, as lowly as a blade of grass. Eight years ago, her mother went missing, her father was killed, and her entire pack was exterminated. Thus, she had been demoted to the lowest servant level by her father’s murderer. For eight years, she had been beaten, cursed, and starved, but she kept her identity a secret.

This year, she turned eighteen years old.

He was the alpha of the largest werewolf pack in all of America and shone like the sun. With his perfectly sculpted face and a tremendous amount of money, no werewolf didn’t know his name, and he was the dream lover of every woman. Everything seemed perfect, except for the fact that he didn’t have a mate yet.

This year, he turned twenty-six years old.

What kind of spark or conflict would there be when they meet by chance?

“Rose, I can give you everything you want. In exchange, you have to be mine.”

“Alpha, the truth is, I’m—”

“Oh, Jesus f*cking Christ! Now, you will never escape me, my Luna.

Lucian Bowcott only wanted a quiet life. He met up with old friends, made a wish, and died after one drink.Now, he awakens inside a coffin—summoned by the Half-Dead Queen of Atraeum and surrounded by restless souls.Armed with the Death Grimoire, Lucian must embalm corpses, repair brittle bones, and help the dead find peace… before something ancient finds him.As his powers grow, so do the whispers in the dark. If he wants to survive, Lucian must unravel the Queen’s grief, discover why a mortician hasn’t been summoned in over a century, and confront the entities haunting his every step.A/N: It doesn't deal with dungeons, Lucian's system is a magical book, and he slowly unlocks powers to help him with his next assignment. He travels to different places around Atraeum, and in the future, another kingdom.This is a character-driven gothic isekai about an introvert learning that sometimes, peace is more than just embalming a body and preparing it for a funeral. He's more of an undead therapist now

It was supposed to be her sister's wedding night, but she was schemed by her biological mother, drugged, and sent into her 'soon-to-be brother-in-law's' wedding car.When they first met, the man in the wheelchair was as dignified and cold as rumored. Just because she approached him slightly, he grabbed her neck, nearly choking her to death.'A woman marrying into the Fu family must rely on herself to survive, understand?'She nodded frantically, thinking that carefully pleasing him would allow them to live respectfully and peacefully like guests for a lifetime.Yet in the nights and days of accompanying him, she was thoroughly consumed, step by step falling into the trap he had long set.In this life, there is no escape; in this love, it moves the heart.

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.”