Combat Maid Harem - Chapter 845 A World’s Soul Contract

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

“Wife...”“Not wife, ex-wife!!” She gritted her teeth, glaring at the handsome man who tried to please her.“Wife...”“Get lost! Turn around, walk ten meters forward, open the door, and leave, no need to see you off!” Looking at the flattering smile on his face, she finally couldn’t hold back anymore. She kicked him, then turned around, tears streaming down her face.The groom didn't show up for the wedding, yet he treated her tenderly, only to realize it was his way of humiliating her. The love she gave finally had a return when he admitted he loved her. On her most precious day, he gave her the most painful blow again. Was that unbearable scene the “gift” from him and his first love? After signing a divorce agreement, she truly felt that her marriage to him was just a joke. However, when she remarried, at the wedding, he domineeringly tore the wedding dress from her body.Facing the man she once loved the most, she smiled calmly: “Ex-husband, can you ever stop messing around?”

The youngest, silly fourteenth son of the Yan Emperor had reached the age where he should be given a separated territory now. He rejected the wealthy land, neighbouring the capital city, and instead chose the wildest land in the western region— Liangcheng. Everyone shook their heads and sighed. A fool is indeed a fool. If you go to Liangcheng, you will be killed by barbarians in less than three to five years.

One year later, the watermelon presented to the Emperor as the tribute from Liangcheng in the west was sweet and crispy. There was no one in the palace who did not love it.

Two years later, Liangcheng presented corn as a tribute to the Emperor. The yield was high, and the taste was good. No one in the country could resist liking it.

Three years later, Liangcheng defeated the barbarians and presented their prisoners in front of the imperial court. The people of Yan were excited and their morale was greatly boosted.

Four years later… Everyone said that the fourteenth prince Mingyu was a fool, while the little fatty Yu, who transmigrated with the golden finger, chuckled. Let’s see how you guys look at this fool build his own territory, then.

- 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.”