Strongest Radioactive System - Chapter 287: Better idea

In her previous life, Su Nuan was set up by her lover and sister, and died tragically in prison. When she woke up, she had been reborn to a time before all the tragedies had happened. At her birthday party, her sister found some kidnappers kidnaping her, trying to destroy her innocence and get her kicked out of the house. Not only did Su Nuan mess up her sister’s plan, but she also dealt with all the kidnappers.

She also rescued Mo Ting, the most powerful and handsome man in City A. To stay away from her cruel sister and hypocritical scumbag of a lover, she relentlessly clung to Mo Ting. “Uncle, for my poor sake, please help me. I’ll do anything you want.”Mo Ting: “A contract marriage for three years. I’ll give you everything you want during that time!” At first, Mo Ting thought Su Nuan was just a poor little girl who had been driven out of her home, so he helped her.

He was also using her to appease his family’s elders as they had been harping on him to get married. Later, his assistant came to report, “The principal of City A’s university is here. He wants your approval for your wife to participate in the international competition.”Mo Ting: “…Wasn’t Xiao Nuan a hopeless student?”Assistant: “Sir, Madam has blown up! The entire internet is kneeling and begging her to debut in the competition!”Mo Ting: “…When did she become so versatile?” Later, the assistant reported again: “Sir, someone from the National Medical Academy is here. They say they won’t leave if they can’t invite Madam to make an appearance!” Mo Ting: “…I must be dreaming. Go out and come in again. Let’s start over!”

Hello, everyone. My name is Shen JianGuo. I’m a night school teacher. I mainly teach the subjects of (Marxist) philosophy and ethics. I occasionally review new policies and measures for the students. I never see my colleagues and students during the day. The training institute classrooms are all abandoned schools, hospitals, or houses. The bus number is 444 and it always appears in front of my door at 12 midnight and disappears before 5am.

What? You say I met a ghost? Impossible. As a staunch scientific materialist, I don’t believe ghosts exist in this world.

But recently I’ve had an issue to raise. Can the training institute bring the class time up a little bit? Wouldn’t it be good to start around 8pm? Though I fear nothing on earth or in the heavens, I’m afraid of going bald.

- Description from Novelupdates

Henry Morris, the 8th-Circle Mage, stood on the execution platform.

When the emperor, his friend, had passed, his son had became a puppet of the nobles. Soon after, a purge had ensued, led by the forces opposing Henry.

Even in the face of death, all Henry could think was that he hated the new emperor and the nobles.

Just as he thought it was all over, Henry suddenly found himself in a new body—one with the potential to become a swordsman. An 8th-Circle Mage, reborn as a swordsman.

With both powers now at his disposal, Henry’s revenge was only a matter of time.

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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.”