Ms. Diviner: The Prodigal Daughter's Return - Chapter 1214: The Same Pain in His Heart

The Divinity Clan is the strongest of the five governing clans in the empire of Olcour. Its heir, Dheinyrus Theocheirós, has been hailed as the strongest human in the world after being recorded to obliterate a dragon as a toddler and wiping out an entire demon encampment as a child.Little did everyone know, Dhein is actually powerless. Failing to awaken his ability to connect his soul to the divine, he is unable to use the supernatural powers granted to all members of the Divinity Clan.Fearing the consequences of being exposed, Dhein did his best in hiding his real circumstances. He proceeded to trick people using rehearsed lines and fake confidence into thinking that he is the strongest human in the history of mankind.And it worked. For years, he became the most feared individual not just in the empire, but the whole world. His excellent lies coupled with the extremely unlikely events that favored Dhein had cemented his position as the strongest.Until one day, he was required to face the scions of the other four governing clans in battle.

As a true over-bearing president scum gong, when Xie He for the Nth time rejected his admirer, he heard a sentence in his head: “Congratulations on achieving the “rejects 100 hosts” accomplishment; as an award you will soon bind to the “Scum Gong and Cheap Shou” system, entering other worlds to complete capture missions.

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.”