White Online - Chapter 646 The Reborn Isaac.

With his engagement at hand, the most terrifying and legendary person of the legal world, Fu Huai’an, returns with a son.

« MATURE CONTENT »His name is Raven Lustre. And the universe fucked him from day one.Imagine this: You get isekai'd to a fantasy world. Finally, right? Your moment. Dragon slayers, demon kings, the whole power fantasy package. Except when everyone else rolled Dragon, Archangel, Titan—bloodlines so pure they could split mountains on day one—you got Incubus.60% purity. The discount bin special.Not the “seduce and conquer” kind you read about in those masterpiece web novels. The “your pheromones are weaker than cologne” kind. The “you can't charm anyone stronger than you” kind. Which in a world where everyone else is a walking apocalypse? Means you can't charm anyone who matters.So while Gareth—the muscle-brained Titan hero—was bench-pressing boulders, and Astasia—the Holy Archangel with a body that belonged in a cathedral and a face she hid behind a helmet—was literally glowing with divine power, Raven was in the back. The strategist. The brain. The guy they kept around because someone had to think.And they hated him for it.Astasia called him trash. Disgusting. Bastard. Freak.Every curse word a noblewoman could learn, she threw at him like stones. He thought she despised him. Thought she saw him as the weakest link dragging down the hero party.Turns out? 89% favorability. She was a fucking tsundere.And he never knew. Never saw it. Because he was too busy surviving, too busy stealing quick fucks with noblewomen in hallways just to recharge his trash-tier powers, too busy being treated like a prostitute with a brain instead of a hero.Then there was Nyra. The cat-woman. Gareth's slave. The one Raven fucked in secret because that idiot was too busy drawing pictures of Astasia like a lovesick puppy. 96% favorability. The one who actually loved him. The one he promised to free.And he failed.An Incubus got who died at Hand of Succubus during their first Session.The End.

[Farming]+[Space]+[Heartwarming]+[Prosperity]+[Defeating Scum]Mo Yan, reduced to ashes by an explosion, was reborn in ancient times,becoming a little farm girl on the run from famine!Above her, a kind and handsome Scholar father - not bad!Below her, a lively and adorable pair of younger siblings - very good!But really, she felt like dying all over again, you know?On the run, going without food, drink, or shelter was one thing,but to always guard against bad guys who might capture her to fill their bellies was another!Luckily, her upgradable Space from the previous life followed her,but what the heck -that amazing Space with mountains, water, and meat to eat had been formatted!Faced with a desperate situation, Mo Yan reignited her fighting spirit:So what if it's formatted, I'll still make a fortune and build my wealth right at the foot of the Imperial City!Carving out mountains, planting orchards, buying shops, building houses... not one less!But... there are so many green-eyed troublemakers!Your farm is yours? Here, I'll trap you to death without discussion!Want to be my stepmom? Fine, I'll send you a bunch of widowers!Mother looking for you? Here, take the divorce papers, keep them, don't thank me!...What? A handsome man is proposing? Uh, this... should I throw myself at him?

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.”