MTL - Emperor Zhengde of Ming Dynasty - Chapter 7 No one shall advance one step without His Majesty's order!

I was killed in a car accident while trying to avoid a stalker.

Is this a reward for dying a miserable death?

I was reborn as a character in a novel that had, not a golden spoon, but a diamond spoon.

I thought I could live my life over again.

Until I found out my brother was a budding psychopath.

“Sister, how about this doll? Do you want it?”

“Leave it.”

“What about this doll?”

My younger brother ties people up so they can’t move, and insists on them being dolls.

Even I am destined to be killed in the hands of my brother.

‘Let’s leave my little brother to the heroine of the novel before that day comes!’

But… my brother killed the heroine…

He became a teacher at the best magic academy in the empire.
….For being mistaken for someone else.

I possessed a reliant villain who was in debt and clinging to the heroines.“Why did I give all these good things to others?”From now on, I will solely focus on my own growth.After stopping these villainous acts,the heroines’ reactions were strange.

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.”