A Painting of the Villainess as a Young Lady - Chapter 222

There are three realms in the multi verse; The Cosmic, the Mortal and the Nether realm.

Hal grew up in the mortal realm with no idea whatsoever of who his parents were.

His love for relics, adventure and the occasional danger would aid him in finding a genie's lamp.

Rubbing a genie's lamp should grant three wishes, but Hal is struck by lightening instead and eventually arrives in the Cosmic realm with a large book in his mind space titled; The Primordial Cosmic Grimiore, that apparently holds all knowledge for a perpetual reign.

And so Hal's journey begins in a little city called Salmon city, in the body of a 17 year old boy also named Hal but was sold into slavery by his own father.

Hal finds out who his mother (prior to reincarnation) whose bloodline now flows unmixed in his new body is....

Join Hal as he battles mortals, Dragons, phoenixes, Gods and many more together with his harem of Beauties for the complete subjugation of the three realms.

That night, she shed off the image of a young maiden’s immaturity, forming a ripple in the deepest parts of the Cold Palace…

That day, she kneeled before him begging for mercy. She didn’t want anything. She only wanted to leave the palace and become an ordinary girl….

A bunch of elegant and good looking heavenly princes. A lowly palace maid with a mind as calm as still water.

If they were to meet, would it be an encounter like dewdrops and the autumn wind or would it be a lament of a country…

- Description from Novelupdates

An unknown parcel arrives to Yoshio, a 30-years old NEET. The content is a game disk titled “The Village of Fate.” A beautiful CG game with real-life images gets started.

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.”