The Nameless Heir - Chapter 18: Reawakening

After five years, Ning Xi has returned and is out to take revenge on the sister who turned her parents against her and the childhood sweetheart who betrayed her for her sister. She aims to fulfill her childhood dream and become a famous actress. However, her sister is still out to get her, and she has to avoid all her underhanded schemes.

One day, after falling into one of her sisters’ schemes, she meets an adorable kid and saves him. This is how Ning Xi found herself staying at the autistic little kid’s house to help him come out of his shell. Slowly, his father, Lu Tingxiao, starts falling for her too.

- Description from novelupdates

They took everything from him...His name, his home, and even his money.Beaten, betrayed, thrown and abandoned like trash.Ryan is left with nothing.But in a world where power is the only law, the powerless don’t just survive… they hunt.The weak don’t beg for mercy.They return with a knife...[Ding!][You have awakened 'The Villain System']And this was his knife.-------------Discord: https://discord.gg/CXs4Wz9aad

Bibi Dong, once the powerful Supreme Pontiff, never expected to be reborn—especially not as someone else's martial spirit. In this new life, she finds herself bound to a young soul master with great potential but little knowledge of the powerful spirit within him.As Bibi Dong guides her host, she must confront her past mistakes and figure out why she was given this second chance. Is it to correct her past, or is there something more at play?

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.”