Lonely Attack on the Different World (WN) - Chapter 243

He praised her, “Wifey, you are a genius!”

This novel is also known as The Yun Family's Ninth Child is an Imp!

She was an unprecedented assassin, a trump card deadly agent, but transmigrated through into Ye City’s number one prodigious good-for-nothing young miss.

I am an ugly woman? I will break out from my cocoon into a gorgeous butterfly that will blind your snobbish eyes!

I am useless piece of heap? Lightning in my hands, I will smite you to a well-cooked crisp!

Her greed and lust for money had no end. She is lewd to the core with no bottom in sight, sworn to have love fortunes blossom all around her. However, a certain someone holding a blade in the left hand and a sword in the right hand began cutting those love fortunes one by one!

The person smiled with perked brows, “Little Ninth, it looks like I have to let you become occupied!”

- Description from Novelupdates

Harry got a strange Life Achievement System which assigns missions that reward him for acting like a scumbag and earning Scum Points.Scum Points Could can be exchanged for powerful magical items, rare abilities, and tools that give Harry an edge in both life and business.At first, he resents it. Then he gets curious. And finally… he gets hooked.But being a scumbag is a high-risk profession. One wrong move, and he could lose everything, even his life. To survive this dangerous game, Harry must walk the line between manipulation and strategy, charm and ruthlessness.He’ll cheat, scheme, and hustle his way to the top.

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.”