Bigoted Mr. Fu Lets Me Do Whatever I Want - Chapter 1174

What does it feel like to be a cannon fodder in your novel?

After ruining countless of his novels with sh*t endings,

Gu Yan who finally received his retribution understood.

Heaven spared no one.

In order to protect his small life, Gu Yan has been sent to diligently clean up his own mess.

However, never did he expect that his ‘clean up’ would be too thorough.

Seeing that the man who was suppose to have killed him kneel down on one knee and take out a ring while saying to him, “Marry me.”

Gu Yan: “…”

- Description from Novelupdates

Humans and Werewolves have lived together in this world for nearly four hundred years… Since the appearance of the first two werewolves, royals, given this power by the moon goddess herself.

In a world where humans and werewolves live together in a tight and uncertain collaboration filled with mistrust and pretence, hunters exist to keep the peace while rogues exist to disrupt it.

Two children are born… destined to put a stop to all the bloodshed and suffering, but not everyone likes the idea of a world with peace between the werewolves and the humans…..

With the Moon goddess along with the Prometheus, the god of mankind only able to watch and provide assistance where possible without breaking divine laws, the question still stands. Will her Chosen Ones be able to accomplish the task at hand…..

The Rogue King strives to keep the two from ever uniting, forcing the them to lead lives that can never be described as normal, but can be called interesting…

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.”

The world’s worst offense, is called Love.