Return of the Former Hero - Chapter 128. Former Hero – Knocks down his bride

The handsome, noble, cold, and ruthless family heir Ignatius Leclair took a liking to the fostered girl Delphine Carter in his home.From then on, the aloof man transformed into a loyal companion, taking care of children, cooking... The entire aristocratic circle was utterly shocked, with everyone envying.Delphine Carter smiled serenely: cunning, energetic, vengeful, a different persona by day and night.[Reading Tips: 1V1, both protagonists are pure, sweet story, the heroine is beautiful.]

After midnight, you’re not allowed to enter the bathroom.

At exactly 2 am, there was a knock on the door.

A woman with disheveled hair and a bony figure always had her back turned to me.

Encountering strange events? Luckily, I can rewind!

This is a story of a reborn individual who navigates a world invaded by strangeness, carefully taking

- Description from Novelupdates

The most unlike Slytherin.

There is a saying in the Slytherin common room, “The little wizard who disobeys will be eaten by the Night Stalker.”

He is the master of the stars that shines at Hogwarts, the Night Stalker who is feared by his enemies.

The glory made him the pride of Slytherin.

When the Dark Lord arrived, he said those words,

“Weapons, I need a lot of weapons.”

With a staff in his left hand and a sword in his right hand, everyone would shout for him: “Damn the Sorting Hat, is this Slytherin?”

When the stars return to Hogwarts, John Wick’s light will shine on the entire wizarding world.

- Description from novelbuddy

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.”