Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma - Chapter 28: This is a waste

The once-bustling and noisy streets were now filled with an eerie blanket of silence.

Hoarse and frenzied whispers lingered high above the heavens, and an indescribable ancient giant lurked in the shadows of the bottomless ocean.

A mysterious plague had outbroken, and natural disasters wrought the Earth. Global pandemic and catastrophes had the panicked masses seeking illusory shelters from the devastation, day and night.

A bloody shower poured over the land as the streaks of lightning tore across the sky, illuminating the ill-intentioned gathering of ravens above. Nevermore, nevermore, quoth the ravens.

“We can see that this malformed creature has twelve pairs of ribs like humans, but also has a “transverse bone” that humans do not possess…”

In the medical school, Gu Jun continued bringing down his scalpel, illustrating the abnormal thoracic structure of the malformed cadaver on the dissection table to the surrounding students.

Ominous and treacherous times had descended! Truth and logic had crumbled, order warped into a frenzy. Humanity can only forge ahead through the power of intelligence and wisdom.

It was an era of war unlike ever seen before in Murim history.To end the horrible war, numerous heroes had sacrificed their lives and disappeared on the battlefield.This is the story of a man that longed to be a hero and the story of his brilliant rise to the top.***Joo Seo-Cheon is a man who luckily survives the Warring Era and becomes the Hwasan sect’s elder, only to live a life full of regrets and doubts.He lays on his deathbed waiting for the inevitable when he is returned to the past…

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.”