MTL - The Inverted Dragon’s Scale - Chapter 848 ,good life!

Gu Bailu has transmigrated. She was in Dubai one second ago, but the next thing she knew, she finds herself in a deep, dark forest. To make things worse, her body has been poisoned and s*x is the only antidote. Thinking that she will die in the middle of nowhere, she somehow runs into a handsome guy who’s semi-conscious. Eager to rescue herself, Gu Bailu lies him down, not realizing that he is Prince Zi, a powerful and brutal man who has killed every woman that had approached him. Her life is saved, but she can’t get away from him…

No system, pure time travel, relying on intelligence and knowledge to control the situation, do not enter if you do not like it.-----------------------The protagonist travels to the Republic of France and becomes a quasi-rich third generation in a family of agricultural tractors.Unfortunately, it is near Paris. The Germans will soon come here, and to preserve the family, France must be saved.Gallieni: “God, the enemy actually presented their flank to us!”Xia Fei: “This can't be true, could it be a trap?”Protagonist: “The food is ready, go ahead, do I need to feed it to your mouth?”German Army: “Is this a tractor factory? What are these steel monsters that are impervious to knives and guns?”

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.”

Offered as a bride to Hades at the age of eighteen.

Pestered by evil spirits in the day, and taken advantage of by a perverted demon at night.

Pervert: “Dear, a night with you is worth more than gold.”

I leaned away as I clenched my teeth angrily: “Worth my foot!”

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