Game Of Thrones: The God-Emperor of Planetos - Chapter 38 - - The Bastard Daughter of the Valyrian Freehold (I)

Thirty Years East, Thirty Years West. Don’t you bully the young and poor!Split open the sky!Go against Heaven!Sick and tired of that kind of cultivation quote and troupe? The never-ending long grind that seemed to have one world after another once you supposedly reached the false apexes?Well, it’s time to broaden your horizons! You shall now be blessed with the perspective of someone who’s at the top of the top: Ye Ming.Someone who had foolishly decided to experience mortal life before realizing how crap it was. It was time to return to his real life.“I wasn’t born with a diamond spoon, but born with the endgame life.” Ye Ming laughed sinisterly. He was the sole Young Master of a family who dominated everything already.Trash cultivation? Trash spiritual roots? Trash background?Sorry, but that ain’t Ye Ming!However, he does have one great and relatable trait: procrastination.

*Slow Burn Historical Fantasy Novel*

Elise had about to change into the dress that was lying on the corner of her bed when she heard a knock lightly calling from her door. Curious, she turned the door knob only to have a tall man towering in front of her.

“Master Ian!” She called.

Ian smiled with the usual mischievous smirk that he always used. His crimson eyes trailing a little over her room and spotted the black dress over her bed and shifted his eyes over to the woman in front of him. He stepped forward and spoke. “Where did you acquire that dress?”

“Mr. Harland gave it to me.” Elise replied and strained her neck to see Ian’s brows knitted in its elegance.

“Do you know why a man would love to give a woman a dress?” He gave the riddle that she always had to think twice before replying. But this time, she found no answer and instead shook her head. “I don’t know.”

His grin grew bewitching as though something had stirred deep inside the scarlet eyes that he had. He slowly slid his hand over the collar of her dress, sending a cold shiver that startled her for a moment due to its freezing temperature. After unbuttoning the first two buttons on her collar, he tilted his head down, whispering to her ears. “Because they want to be the one to undress the cloth.”

He paused and kissed her neck, turning the pale skin to red before retracting his move to fix his eyes on her and leisurely replied. “Unfortunately, you can’t wear the dress over there with this.” He chuckled and passed a box over to her hand. “And the fortunate news is I prepared a dress for you.”

Elise was a cursed little girl who could see ghosts. Her family hated her and threw her from one adoptive family to another. However, misfortune didn't act alone. When she was brought up by her aunt, she was sold as a slave. When she had thought she would become nothing but a sacrifice to the sorcerer, she was saved by a man whose identity was far different than a normal mythical being.

Raised as nothing more than a weapon, Xin Long was kidnapped and forged into a killer — his freedom severed, his name reduced to a whisper. In a world where trust is a death wish and mercy is a myth, he treads a path of blood and betrayal, outwitting ruthless foes and surviving inhuman trials. Yet, the deeper he delves into the shadows of Jianghu, the more he unravels a web of dark secrets that bind the martial world.Step into the dark side of Jianghu and witness the so-called Forgotten Tale — a story never meant to be told...

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.”