Transmigrator Meets Reincarnator (WN) - Chapter 65: Raindrop Mochi and Iced Desserts (2)

The archaeologist “red-haired witch” made too big of a disturbance while excavating tombs, gloriously becoming a martyr in the midst of the grave chamber’s collapse. Seventeen years later, she had transmigrated into the Five Regions Continent. The delinquent Meng Fuyao who struggled to survive in the lowest rungs of society, cast aside her boyfriend who was about to marry another person with a slice of his five fingers.

“Sign them.” So coldly, he said to her out of the blue.In one day. Phoebe Saxon lost it all. Betrayed and heartbroken, she is forced to jump off a building and plunges down to her death__, never dreaming that she would be reborn again, back to the year before she met her husband, David Saxon.With new abilities like seeing ghosts, she sets her life on a new path. Help ghosts, get rich and live a carefree life while getting revenge on the bastards that harmed her in the past.It was a good plan except for one little problem: her ex husband seemed to be chasing after her?David knew only a single thing, Phoebe was the love of his life. Both of them had been betrayed by an enemy in the past, someone that played with their lives as if they were toys.This time round, he would give his all to protect her, pamper her, love her and spoil her.He would do all it took to make her his, so when she run, he chased.This novel is participating in the viral book call competition. Please show your love by adding to your library and writing a review. Thank you.

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.”

Bob was a good guy. He had done everything you were supposed to do. He exercised, he kept to a healthy diet, he'd studied hard, gotten excellent grades, and was working towards his masters. Somehow, things just weren't working out for him like he'd been told they would. He was stuck in a thankless position, constantly passed over, and it seemed that the only being on earth that cared about him was his cat.

Then things got worse.

Never back a man into a corner unless you want to find out just how hard he can fight.