The Regressed Blood Knight's Strategy - Chapter 170

Wendy Waltz, a diehard anti romantic! Though born as royalty, she had been neglected by her father and bullied by her stepmother and younger sibling. To make this worse, she had been betrayed by her lover. She throws away her royalty and name and starts anew with a new name and a strange power! But who is this Head of the Imperial Guards, Lard Shroder, who keeps appearing beside her?

[Thriller + Reasoning + System]

Strange recovery, strange rules and strange stories invaded all over the world.

As the chosen one, Zhou Bai entered the ghost talk game on behalf of the Great Xia Kingdom. The first ghost story is about a family of four.

[You live with your wife and parents. But remember, there are only three people in your family. ]

[You can trust your wife, unless she takes off the red hairpin.]

[You and your wife have never had a baby, so if you hear a baby crying in the middle of the night, don’t worry about it.]

[Remember, you cannot have sex with your wife.]

- Description from novelbuddy

A modern university graduate, traversing the window between two worlds, steals a celestial cultivation opportunity that originally did not belong to him. And this celestial technique, quite unorthodox...My credibility should be assured. In order to be responsible to the readers, I must earnestly remind you: my book is easy to linger on in your thoughts, so proceed with caution.

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.”