My Children Are Fierce And Adorable! - Chapter 41

Unique skill ‘creditor’ which can bet with its debtors on the unpaid debts.

And the ability to take skills and stats!

Kang Yoo-sik’s chance to start a new life at the Hunter Military Academy.

The tomatoes and potatoes are piled up in the warehouse, the dead horses are squeezing the milk, the vampires are carrying the watermelons, the succubuses are picking the eggplants, and the Lich King is quietly licking the ice cream…

The people who died in the crown pointed to the tribes:
Let the dead be born, and let the dead die!

(This book is based on the dungeon and the Warriors, Warcraft, heroes invincible, riding and cutting, and another million finished “Wasteland Ranch” character guarantee)

- Description from Uukanshu translation

Painfully shy and conflict-averse, Yun Ruoyan is a scion to a noble house only in name, a puppet embroiled in political machinations beyond her ken. At the tender age of eighteen, poisoned and at death’s door, she finds herself thrown out into the streets. Her relatives have all been executed, betrayed by her dear husband and her cousin. With her dying breath, she curses her own weakness and swears revenge.

When Yun Ruoyan awakens once more, she is thirteen, transported five years into the past by the will of the heavens. Her death-defying experience has changed her: no longer is she the malleable creature she once was. But more questions await at every corner—what is the truth behind the birthmark that disfigures her appearance? What are the circumstances surrounding her mother’s mysterious death?

Will the phoenix rise from the ashes, or will she fall once more in thrall to fate?

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.”