I have Been Reincarnated! - 090 – The Shadow’s Magic Tools & The Magic Language

Shunned by her pack as the Traitor's daughter, Natalie Cross—a werewolf without a wolf—has endured more pain than most could imagine. Forced to bear the mark of a ruthless alpha, rejected by her destined mate, and ultimately banished, she finds herself alone and unwelcome among her kind. With the Alpha's scent branding her as untouchable, no other pack will take her in.Desperate and discarded, Natalie hides among humans, scraping by in a world that doesn’t know or care about her true identity. But everything changes when she crosses paths with an adorable wolf pup—and its enigmatic, wealthy owner. The man offers his help, something no one else has dared to do.Yet, kindness feels like a foreign concept to Natalie. Can she trust this stranger who harbours secrets as deep as her own? Or is his generosity just another trap, promising a fate darker than the one she’s already survived?

How could a poor graduate student without any background or connections become successful? With a coaching system? An upgrade? This is not a computer game, but real life we’re talking about!

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.”

For the wine to be drunk on her wedding night to actually have been a cup of poison and for the one to poison her to be her husband, who would believe it?