Transmigrating and Raising Children: I’ll Make Earth’s Delicacies Go Viral - Chapter 247 - : Connection

The youngest Wiseman of the continent, Chu Tian, has traveled 30,000 years back in time to the age of antiquity due to an accident.

Marry him for a contract, but it is love that supports them to live together.

In order to raise medical expenses for the seriously ill father, she had to sign a contract with a strange man, she would be his wife, and he was responsible for paying for the treatment of her father.

Life after marriage is very ordinary. He is the CEO of the company. He is busy working every day and occasionally has a look at her, but he is full of disgust. However, she fell in love with him little by little, and she was very sad when facing his indifference. Neither of them knew how to resolve the misunderstanding between them.

After experiencing the death of her father and an unexpected pregnancy, they finally opened their hearts, and sincerely, began a happy life.

The eldest son of the assassin aristocrat Tuatha Dé.

The skill, experience, knowledge of the previous life, magic, all of which grows his power as an assassin.

Excellent assassins pass through. He was usually admired as the ideal lord, and behind it wielded a blade as an assassin aristocrat.

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.”