Summoned and Unwanted - Chapter 91

[Rebirth + Abuse of Trash + Sweet Love] In her previous life, Su Li was blind and helped her husband to ascend to a high position.When he became successful, she abandoned him.Her grandfather's family and her father, the Shangshu, who had lived a clear and upright life, were decapitated and beheaded. She herself died with two bodies and could not close her eyes. God has eyes and she was reborn. In this life, she protects her relatives and steps on scumbags and bitches.When the scars faded, her appearance was stunning.Her medical skills were superb and amazing. ... A certain prince who was upright and elegant outside was clinging to the beauty in his arms: “This prince feels uncomfortable all over, and I need Li'er to check it out.”✨Love this translation? Support me on Patreon for early access, exclusive content, and more! Your support keeps the translations coming—subscribe today!

Reborn in Hong Kong in 1973, he took Hutchison ahead of Li Chaoren, and Wharf before the charter king… Following the path of others, leaving others nowhere to go, one vowed to take the charterer as his life goal The man, he is here, he is really here, this book is the author’s second Hong Kong (Hong Kong Island) rebirth article, readers who like Hong Kong articles, please click to enter…

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”