Returning From The Magic World - Chapter 84 Arrival

Yan Lan follows her mother's dying wish to hide her countless identities and live a low-key life.Who would have thought that one night, her sister Yan Xue has a dream about a broken wealthy family, and upon waking, steals her beloved and forces her to go on a blind date in her place.Yan Lan: Go for the blind date immediately, the match is the prince of the capital's elite circle.The sister waits and waits, expecting Yan Lan to follow her old path and become an abandoned wife of a wealthy family, but finally she receives news...Late at night, Yan Lan returns home after a quarrel.The former true love: Brother, I have a stomachache, can you come to see me?The new wealthiest and prince: Block and delete in one go, don't disturb me while I pack my small bag to sleep on the floor at my wife's place!

I possessed a reliant villain who was in debt and clinging to the heroines.“Why did I give all these good things to others?”From now on, I will solely focus on my own growth.After stopping these villainous acts,the heroines’ reactions were strange.

To pick is to choose. This is a story about choices. Three thousand worlds full of gods and demons, with a daoist scroll in your hand, you are able to control the entire universe…

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.”