MTL - The Vicious Female Supporting Role is So Tired [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 67 Evil Flower Picker⑦

In the nation of Avrael, power is both a blessing and a curse. Sixteen-year-old Ayato Daath, a poor orphan, had always hoped to live unnoticed in the shadows of the city. But when he is forced to undergo The Rite of Manifestation, the ritual that determines one’s magical potential, his worst fear comes true—he is an Elite.Now torn from the only life he’s ever known, Ayato is thrust into a brutal world of magic, bloodshed, and treacherous politics. In a society where the strong prey on the weak, where rival factions scheme in the dark, and where a single misstep could mean death, Ayato must quickly learn one thing—adapt, or perish. And one thing Ayato already knows is that in Avrael, only the ruthless survive.

*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.

“She was originally a demon. How could she be led evil after meeting a human like me? Those critics always say some ridiculous things.”

In 1798, during an interview with a reporter, Cardinal Ranchi was asked about his past with the exiled princess of the last descendant of the Demon Clan and the recent signs of the Demon Clan’s recovery. He said:

“I have made too many efforts to safeguard world peace. I am convinced that under her leadership, there will be no chance of the demons returning to the country.”

…

In the winter of 1802, the demons successfully restored their country.

[Based on the above materials, please identify who is the main war criminal who led to the return of the demons, and explain why it is Lan Qi. (10 points)】

——Selected from “Classic Collection of Imperial History Unified Examination Questions”

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”