Shadow Monarch: Heroines Could Hear My Thoughts?! - Chapter 133 133- Massive Scale Investigation (Part 4)

As soon as Qin Feng opened his eyes, he was horrified to find himself lying in a drafty thatched hut. The problem was that he was still in his villa! What was even more horrifying was that there was another man lying under the blanket next to his legs!

“You, you, who are you?”

The man quietly sat up, exposing his upper body. He looked at him fixedly for a moment, then took a broken bowl from the table by the bed. He said in a muffled voice, “Wife, drink this water.”

Qin Feng rolled his eyes and fainted. Without permission, it is forbidden to reproduce or adapt it. Violators must be investigated.

Evan crossed over, but he wasn’t worried at all… because he had the character template from the mobile game and five devil fruits obtained from a lottery draw with him.

Markus spent his life piecing together fragments of his past life on Earth, flickers of faces, half-remembered streets, the ghost of a world that no longer existed.Slowly, gradually, he’d finally found his footing in this new world of monstrous beings. He felt grounded, as if his fractured memories could finally settle into something resembling a family.But it all went downhill from there.A lingering touch, a promise, an obsession. As if fate itself was playing a cruel joke, his life begins to spiral down. Gradually tumbling down like a crescendo of madness, dragging him deeper into something inescapable.Every attempt to claw his way back only pulls him further down, like a bottomless pit with no end in sight.How much can a person endure before they break? And when they do, can they ever truly piece themselves back together?

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.”