The Duke’s Eldest Son Escaped to the Military - Chapter 129

We are born free; yet, why do the deities and Buddhas claim supremacy!Bodhisattva, Buddha, Deity? ... I shall wipe out all your Divine Souls!If the heavens obstruct me, I will shatter these heavens; if the earth obstructs me, I will crush this earth!Tathagata, today you must return to me—five hundred years!...

I possessed the body of a villain who torments the male protagonist in a tragic story and dies.Before meeting the male protagonist, I managed to endure my miserable life with survival skills and magic.When I finally met the male protagonist:“Get lost.”He bared his teeth like a kitten.But as we got a little closer,“Lila, help me.”I worked hard to take care of this unexpectedly pitiable young master.And then…“Lila, do you love me?”“What?”“I’m asking if you love me.”“…Young Master.”“I love you.”“…”When I was too stunned to respond, he smiled and approached me.“Lila, tell me you love me. If you do, I’ll give you everything I have. Okay?”It seems I raised him too well.The young master I had so carefully raised began to obsess over me.

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.”