The Young Master's Escaping Bride Who Lost Memories - Chapter 194 - 196 [196] The Meaning of the Third Personality1

Sometime after ‘Gates’ appeared in this world, humanity was divided into two: [User] and [ordinary human beings] Lee-kyung was able to awaken into a user and choose a [Class]…but, in momentary misjudgement, chose to be a [Necromancer], the worst of all classes.

Lee-kyung, searching for the materials to evolve his skeletal servant, ‘Lackey,’ was barely able to participate in a high-level raid for [Tower of Command] Dungeon. In an accident, he falls down alone to uncover a hidden conspiracy.

Injured and desperate to survive, Lee-kyung called out to anyone…and reached a vengeful spirit. “Please, I’ll do anything….Please form a contract with me and save me!”

–-You’ll do anything?….

TW: Depictions of mental health

Also known as: Sky City

What exactly is love, and where does it come from? I can’t figure it out, maybe the so-called love is just a colorful butterfly, it looks beautiful, but it can never be approached, if you really want to hold her tightly in your hand, she will struggle, and then rub against each other in the struggle Lost all the colors, pale from now on.

I seem to understand a little bit why I was so cautious, because I was afraid of not touching her soul, but wiped off that beautiful color!

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A pure love story between a three-none man and a beautiful female tenant.

Sina Weibo: Search (I have medicine to sell)

WeChat public account: tanke17k

- Description from novelbuddy

[Can the devil’s music bring happiness to the world?]From Jimmy Hendrix to Rachmaninoff, all the historical musicians who he meets in his dreams.The devil that presents itself as a little boy in love with singing.The devil’s blessing, given to such a tiny child.In the blessings of many devils,The boy’s song for the world begins.

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.”