Rise of the Devourer - Chapter 12Book 3: — Spear Training

“Live the life you want this time.”

A peerless assassin, codename: Hua, has already started her career ever since she was a child. Her mission’s record was perfect and whoever deemed to be her enemies would end up dead without knowing why.

When war ended, she was sent to an institution where she was watched heavily. The doctor in charge gave her an ordinary wuxia novel to read.

An avalanche struck after she had finished reading.

When she woke up, she had turned into Nan Hua, the young miss

“She's back, let's get a divorce.”After three years of secret marriage, he suggested divorce when she faced a family's crisis and was pregnant. He also turned a blind eye to her plea for help. Disappointed, she concealed her pregnancy and signed for divorce.She thought they would be strangers after the divorce, but her pregnancy was suddenly exposed.When he proposed remarriage, she angrily said, “I only want to keep the child with me, and if you want to see them, kneel down!”She thought he would give up when faced with difficulties, but she really underestimated his abilities.Soon, a video of him kneeling and begging for reconciliation was displayed throughout the day on the outdoor big screen in the most prosperous area of the city.

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?