Grasping Evil - Chapter 521 - The World Creating Stone, Giant Zhi Huo

These days, could one really time-travel just by dreaming? And to become a silly princess at that. Well, marrying a domineering man wasn't too bad. His taking a concubine wasn't the end of the world either. But why was she forbidden from liking anything except him? That was just too domineering! She had to escape! Ah, but upon escaping, she realized he was a half-demon who didn't understand love... and, moreover, a half-demon who had a three-lives connection with her...

“When the old gods are forgotten, they do not die—they wait.”In the year 1025, the Viking Age wanes.Iceland bows to Christ. The Althing governs by law. And the gods of old fade to whispers.But in the far Westfjords, something stirs.Vetrulfr, a former Varangian captain and exile, returns from the East with foreign gold, forgotten warcraft, and a hunger no man can name.He comes not in peace, but to raise Ullrsfjörðr from ash and ice; building walls, carving runes, and waging war on behalf of a dying faith.From Reykjavík to Aachen, rumors spread: a ghost walks the North once more. Some call him the son of Ullr. Others, a wolf-cloaked demon.But all will know his name.and when the Valkyries call, he will answer.

Because her appearance was not breathtaking, the Emperor breaks off their engagement and bestows her instead to the bloodthirsty, ruthless, and cold-blooded Second Prince (Wang Ye).

On her wedding night comes endless humiliation, the genuine Princess Consort becoming a deserted women. A foolish woman before rebirth, she no longer expects his love. In this world, she must possess enough talent to awe those around her, carrying herself with composure and articulating with beautiful diction, override above the nine night.

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”