Thriving in the Beast World - Chapter 919 - 924: Who Are You?

Xiao Bing, who used to be a top soldier in mercenary and came back to normal life because of the death of his best friend. He started over, played dumb and coped with difficulties. He stood on the bones of others and held beauty by his side. Finally, he succeeded and became the emperor of the city.

“Brother Bing, please protect my little sister as well as my families carefully. I feel lucky to accompany you during these 6 years. It is my honor to go through fire and water with you. I’m not regretful!”

I’m not regretful!

Thinking of what Su Peiya had said before dying, Xiao Bing clenched his fists tightly and cried. He made a decision to protect Su Peiya’s families before finding the spy of Long Men and to make rightful claims for Su Peiya.

Xiao Bing did not love Su Peiya, but he regarded her as his only best friend!

He unfastened the seat belt when the plane landed safely. Looking at the urn in his hands, he sighed, “We have arrived at Jiang City. You get home now, Peiya.”

- Description from Novelupdates

Xu Zimei found himself reborn, carrying with him all the heaven-shaking cultivation and memories from his previous life.But something was off about the script. Isn’t reincarnation always the protagonist’s theme? However, I was cast as the villain!This is the story of a villain's step-by-step journey to becoming the Demon King.——————————In an era of great strife, where mystical arts resonated!An elder of the True Martial Holy Sect sat at the Willow Bank River Fishing Platform when suddenly he heard the dragon’s roar. Three thousand carps knocked at the gate of life, transforming into the Measureless Golden Dragon, soaring through the firmament, graceful as a startling swan!There were strongmen who measured the heavens and earth with their strides, monks who sat in meditation in temples for three thousand years, achieving sudden enlightenment—auspicious clouds descended, and all laws of magic cheered in chorus.Blood moons darkened the night, rainbows cut through the daylight.There was a swordsman with a wooden sword on his back who, with a turn and a raise of his hand, shattered thousands of miles of rivers and mountains.In the south of the city, a ragged beggar with a broken willow twig dared to assault the Holy Court of a sect that boasted three emperors.

Marcella Valemont was a villainess wrapped in silk and thorns.The alluring, selfish daughter of the High Priest, she was forced into a cold marriage with the Black-bellied Duke Berith Montclair. She longed for power and would stop at nothing to claim the crown, even if it meant seducing the incorruptible Crown Prince Lucian and clawing her way to the throne into becoming the Queen.Until it all burned.Her ruthless schemes led to betrayal, rebellion, and ruin-- an empire on its knees, a virtuous king destroyed, and a rebellion led by the man she discarded. Desperate and full of regret, she barters her life with the Duke to save Lucian.In an interesting turn of events, Marcella gets to go back in time to fix her wrongs, save the man who was ruined because of her and hopefully stop the bloodthirsty rebel Duke Berith.She finds herself reborn as her 18-year-old self with a chance for a do-over and vows to do better this time.But the past does not forget. Nor does the devil in her husband’s skin.Secrets long buried begin to surface, and Marcella discovers that her former husband is far more than he seems—a man cloaked in darkness, harboring a purpose that threatens everything she holds dear.They say second chances come with thorns and to fix the past, she must trust the devil who destroyed it.

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.”