MTL - The Demonic King Chases His Wife: The Rebellious Good-for-Nothing Miss - Chapter 2 This is simply abuse!

The idiot Long Gen pretends to be a pig and eats a tiger, takes advantage of the girls in the village, travels across the countryside and forests, monopolizes the beauty and coquettishness, and achieves the legend of “Dragon Gen”. There is a widow in front of the door leaning on the door to watch, and a sister-in-law next door looking through the screen window… This book is determined to be a stallion, with the goal of pushing down and being pushed.

- Description from novelbuddy

Igor had asked him to die for the world. She would ask him to die for her. Problem was, he didn't really like dying, not for a second time, at least.

Crossing the prehistoric times, Chen Changsheng bowed to Tongtianmen and became the most sturdy senior brother of the Intercepting Sect, awakening the reading system.

Read [Holy King], extract the god statue, and automatically upgrade it to the immortal way.

Read [Perfect], extract the self-indulgence method of his transformation, and automatically upgrade it to chaos and self-inflicted law.

Read [Star Change], extract the method of stars, and automatically upgrade Hongmeng Star Change.

…

Just like that, relying on reading from the heavens, Chen Changsheng became the first person to communicate with each other in the past and present.

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”