After Being Reborn and Regaining Her Identity, the True Heiress Is Spoiled in the Seventies - Chapter 149: The more you try to hide, the easier it is to make mistakes.

In an era where humans and demons compete in fierce battles for survival, the Hero has fallen.“…I will take your place.”Thus began the deception of the fake Hero.If exposed, it could mean the destruction of humanity.…But the imposter is just too good at it.[Academia], [Professor], [Hero]

Wen Ying became the “Unlucky One” chosen by Lord God.No matter which world she appears in, she is not loved.————“I heard that you became a sugar baby?”“Stepped on three boats. Ah, the boats probably capsized.”“You are a minister’s wife, but you’re seducing his majesty, why are you such a slag?”Actress-born Wen Ying, displayed the exclusive smile of a white lotus——So what? In the end, won’t all of you become my ministers.

Young Lin Yi, betrayed by his beloved, had his core taken away and became a pariah despised by all.At a fortuitous moment, Lin Yi acquired the ancient legacy 'Chaos Sword Body Technique', rising against the odds to embark on a path of revenge!“Those who have wronged me, Lin Yi, shall be repaid a hundredfold!”

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.”