Infinity, The Arcade Age - Chapter 338: Turned Against Each Other

Cheng Xi, a guileless psychiatrist with a heart of gold, who would do anything for her patients. Lu Chenzhou, a frigid businessman who refuses treatment for his emotional detachment.

Inside the dining room.

Fangzheng: Hello, I’m on a blind date.

Sister Yu: A blind date?

Fangzheng: To make a long story short, I know you are here to deal with your parents. As long as we make it clear, we can go back to our respective homes.

Sister Yu: Do you know who I am?

Fangzheng: I don’t know much, so what do you say? Continue to photograph or?

At this time, a waiter came in and bowed awkwardly to the two of them: I’m sorry sir, I made a mistake, this is not the room you are looking for! Your blind date is next door!

Fangzheng: ….

- Description from novelbuddy

WARNING: The MC is NOT a demon! For an explanation of the title, please see the post we made specifically addressing this matter.

Ling Xiao was an orphan fighting for survival in a dog eat dog world. There were some who had the power to enjoy a life of comfort, unconcerned with worldly matters, while most struggled to survive. He was of the second kind.

When he celebrated his sixth birthday, his father left him to the wolves with only a token to defend himself. He struggled to earn a living, scrambling together whatever scraps he could gather; fighting with the dogs for food and fighting with the homeless for shelter.

But that all changed on a fortuitous day, when a demon invaded his home. In a world of deception and plotting, one tasked with seeking revenge for the man who gave him a second lease on life, how would Ling Xiao fare?

- Description from Novelupdates

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.”