Domineering Love - Chapter 66 - The Boyfriend Descends

Kurogami Ichiro was desperate because he couldn’t achieve what he wanted when he once started his martial arts path at age of 8!

Gu Mingxi and Pang Qian were next-door neighbors, classmates, and deskmates. From year-to-year, even when the class seating was rearranged, they would still be deskmates. They grew up together like a pair of brother and sisters despite having different parents; if it was someone else, then their parents would probably have already arranged their wedding. However, Gu Mingxi was different.

Orodan was an orphaned street rat who clawed his way to the county militia with hard work. However calamitous events unfold and draw him into events bigger than himself and Orodan's battle-loving disposition leads to a warrior's death for him. Only for him to wake up again on the day of.In a world of skills, titles and blessings; a smart time looper would perhaps scheme, plan, amass equipment and allies. But not Orodan. If there's one thing he's good at it's stubbornly trying the same thing over and over again via brute force till it's done.If a wall is in front, going around is not an option. Instead batter it with your head thousands of times till either the wall breaks or you do. And gain skill levels along the way

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.”