Cult of the Sacred Runes - Chapter 227 – Four Bolts

While the blue light blossoms, the insignificant struggle at the bottom. He grasps the opportunity to change his fate and embarks on an unprecedented path…

The handsome, noble, cold, and ruthless family heir Ignatius Leclair took a liking to the fostered girl Delphine Carter in his home.From then on, the aloof man transformed into a loyal companion, taking care of children, cooking... The entire aristocratic circle was utterly shocked, with everyone envying.Delphine Carter smiled serenely: cunning, energetic, vengeful, a different persona by day and night.[Reading Tips: 1V1, both protagonists are pure, sweet story, the heroine is beautiful.]

Lingyun, a fierce and savage cultivation genius takes over a dead teenager’s body. Coincidentally, they are both named Lingyun. Set in a alternate version of the 21st century, teenager Lingyun has been killed by someone with a grudge.

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.”