Tales of the Reincarnated Lord - Chapter 544: Report

In the spirit of no strategy, Luo Chenyu has been running around in various worlds, live broadcasts counterattacks and slaps his face, and he wants to take the system to the “peak of Tongsheng”.

But later…

The soft cute little milk dog opened her innocent and clear eyes and looked at her eagerly: Sister, I will be obedient~

The sensitive and suspicious prince put the sword against her neck: You can only compensate me for so many years of cruel torture!

The sickly and perverted demon king gently stroked her face: No matter if you go up to the sky, go down to the yellow spring, or live in the sky, you can only stay by my side.

The overbearing monarch put the phoenix seal on both hands: I am willing to risk the world and marry you! Would you like to share this great country with me?

Luo Chenyu: …

Climb all for Grandpa!

*

Someone was secretly jealous, and finally couldn’t help blocking her in the corner.

The face of the ruthless tyrant has a pair of cute furry ears.

“You touched my ear, but you have to be responsible for me…”

Luo Chenyu: Her boss is so cute, it’s terrible!

- Description from novelbuddy

Once all people received Souls and incredible powers. Some were lucky enough to obtain the Soul of an ancient and powerful creature, but fate was not favorable to all.

The world began to change, and creatures evolved. But, it was not the beginning of a new era. It was the end. A couple of months later, a dark mist appeared and destroyed the world. It was a dictate of destiny from which no one could escape.

Wain Norheim was the world's best assassin and the only one who didn't get a soul. However, he was destined to gain the power to confront fate.

Escaping through a portal into another world, he unknowingly began the apocalypse. Even the world failed to expel 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.”

In this world, there is the beautiful mutual and telepathy love.