Reborn Aristocrat: Oppressing - Chapter 1899

There is an ugly beast that violates women in prison.

A treacherous beast that is feared and called a “Butcher”.

That’s me.

I was once a human but now I can’t even remember my own name.

I can’t speak, and I don’t understand a word they say.

It is in this deep loneliness that I am pouring my essence into the women everyday.

I pour my burning rage into them.

Over and over again, until they conceive.

From morning till night. Until the women’s souls withered.

To show them that I’m an excellent stallion and an obedient domestic animal.

But my soul has not perished yet.

I will break free from this prison soon. And when I do, it will be your last.

Every human who betrayed me, every demon who altered me, I will trample down like an ant.

And it won’t stop until I’m satisfied.

The dawn of the beast is near.

Dress up as a man#

What is White Moonlight?

The white moonlight is like the bright moon in the sky.

What I can’t get is always acting as a real. Bai Yueguang. As a real. Bai Yueguang. Wen Xien takes the plot seriously, but every time the plot collapses, I can’t bear to look directly.

The scene of a large Shura field.

Sports students who are gradually becoming crazy: “Aren’t we best friends? Isn’t it enough to have me?”

The step-brother who gradually revealed his true nature: “No one in this world loves you except me.”

The opponent who gradually criticized: “They can, why can’t I.”

Gradually perverted junior: “I want to tear you apart, I want to be one with you.”

Wen Xien “…Tong, your mission goals are so perverted, do you know?”

The system sneered: “I forced you out!”

This is a story of a small craftsman who turned the mission target into a snake spirit disease.

- 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.”