Bringing the Nation's Husband Home - Chapter 181: The Most Beautiful Confession with Hand Signs（3）

What comes to your mind when you hear the word 'Villain'? Evil, cruel, cunning? So true.

But what if the main character in this novel is reincarnated as a villain? Can he kill the protagonist who has endless plot armor?

Zhou Yuan had to accept the fact that he had reincarnated into the world of the cultivation novels he had read in his previous life.

He realized that his identity was extraordinary.

Father is a CEO and Mayor, Mother is the Chairman of a famous company, and Grandfather is a national hero.

Zhou Yuan was excited, but that all changed when he realized that his role was that of the villain.

“Shit, am I going to die? No, then I will become the villain who rules the world!”

Not being reckless, Zhou Yuan got help from the system.

[Ding, you got a starter gift pack]

[Congratulations, you got a high-level cultivation talent]

[Congratulations, your luck increased +20]

[Congratulations, you got a high-level medical technique]

In the Comprehensive Martial Arts Continent, five great empires vie for supremacy!In the jianghu, Land Immortals reign supreme, their power overshadowing all living beings.However, when Bai Chen descends upon this world, everything changes, and the entire narrative takes an unprecedented turn!Feilu reminds readers: This novel and its characters are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real individuals or events is purely coincidental. Please do not attempt to imitate.

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.”