I'm an Ordinary Returning Student at the Academy - Chapter 128

Introduction: Zhao Si, one of Wall Street’s rising rookies, has been reborn. Knowing the trend of the times, he wants to make his corrupt official father change his ways…

(ps: This story is purely made up, if there is any similarity, it is definitely a coincidence, and it is not aimed at any individual or group organization.)

- Description from novelbuddy

With A Tale of Blades & Blood, the world of Avalion takes shape in the form of an all too familiar world. Filled with morals either clear or grey, war is inevitable while peace never lasts. Fifteen centuries of watchful peace and subtle tension have finally boiled, and the conflict rises once more, now filled with more bloodshed than ever before.Beyond the mountains of the Nortenhein, the Weslands arm themselves to take back their lands and bring forth to the south and the east A Bloody Winter. To the east, over hills and through forests of old and past the waters of the Red River, The East Plains stand tall with the Spire as its center, ready to fulfill their Dream of Vengeance. Deep in the south where the cities stand and to the west where the walls never crumble, steel meets steel as brother fights brother in A Dance of Fire and Swords.Witness the adventures of Orevian Ballister, Norien Ravenhan, Forien Strix, and Loran Aelond as they face battles of wits, blades, honor, glory, and tragedy in a story that shall never be forgotten:A Tale of Blades & Blood.

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.”