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... ade a very reasonable decision, compared to an attack skill or a guard skill, a movement skill would be much more helpful for his survival. While there were hundreds of “unbeatable” and strong arts in the world, Ye Chen could only protect himself and hurt his opponent when he had speed, when his speed reached a certain level, it would be more powerful than any attack skill. In the end, even if he failed to hit his opponent, Ye Chen still could escape. Comparatively a guard skill could also prote ...

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A genius schemer, creating an emperor!

“Only when your brother is happy can you be happy.”

She committed all kinds of evil deeds to make him Emperor. However, Artezia’s devotion was repaid with betrayal. It was the Grand Duke Cedric, a righteous enemy, that gave her a hand of salvation at the threshold of death.

“Devise a plan.”
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“I can’t think of anyone but you who can reverse this situation. Marquess Rosan.”
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“Lend me your strength.”

There is no plan that can reverse the already declining power and save the fallen empire. However, there is a method. To turn back time before everything went wrong.

With tears of blood she sacrificed her body to an ancient magic. This time, she will not fall.

Artezia, who returned to the age of 18 before death, resolved to become a villainess for the Grand Duke Cedric.

“Please give me your hand in marriage. I’ll make you emperor.”

In exchange for kneeling to the devil, the devil shall dirty her hands for you.

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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.”