The Famous Millionaire - Chapter 112

He doesn’t want to be wanted for bounty, or be a pirate, but if there’s no other choice, he can only become a pirate…..

When Qiao Moyu awakened, she found herself in a novel world and had become the villainess who was loathed by the President, the story’s male protagonist.

Qiao Moyu, the President’s childhood friend, came to his door whilst holding a baby, but the man said he won’t take any responsibility since the child wasn’t his!

As she stared at her adorable and proud little toddler, Qiao Moyu decided to take this chance to raise her son while having a fresh start in her acting career. As for the other problems, she’ll just take it easy!

However, a few months later ~

President: “You’re not some disgusting mosquito blood, you’re my white moonlight (first love).”

Luo Luo: “Mama, he’s not Baobei’s father. Baobei doesn’t want him.”

A certain Film Emperor: “I want both you and the child.”

Online fans: “Qiao Moyu is ours!”

- Description from novelupdates

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.”

Valhǫll, a fantasy game with a touch of modernity.I thought I’d give it one last try with the rewards of achievements.I acquired extraordinary traits like [Death Avoidance], [Ironman], [Winds], traits I wouldn’t have chosen in ordinary circumstances.But I should have never started.I fell into a game where reaching the ending seemed impossible.With the body of an orphan wandering the market alleys.[Devil’s Blood], [Worst Condition], [Eccentric Actions], [Mysophobia].Plus burdened with hidden penalty traits.“Damn it.”Can I survive?No. I must survive, no matter what it takes.